


Point/Counterpoint

by ohhaypsy



Category: Mass Effect Trilogy
Genre: Betrayal, F/M, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Slow-ish burn, Unhealthy Relationships, mention of suicide
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-12
Updated: 2018-12-15
Packaged: 2019-07-29 18:39:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 24,917
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16270070
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ohhaypsy/pseuds/ohhaypsy
Summary: Lantar Sidonis has always known he's a coward. He doesn't fight, he runs and hides. Runs from his family, his colony, his Cabal. Hides on Omega, where he blends in with all the others living in a perpetual state of fear.Garrus makes him not afraid. Even makes him a little brave. But Garrus is broken, and Lantar just wants tofixhim.Lantar doesn't know how to say no, and it's going to get everyone  killed.The story of Archangel's betrayer.Chapter 10All These Things That I've DoneButler patches everyone up and is not happy about it.





	1. Man of Constant Sorrow

**Author's Note:**

> STRAP IN KIDS, I'M COMMITTING TO THIS.
> 
> This is the first fic of this size I've decided to do more than dabble with. Where doing it man. Where MAKIN THIS HAPEN. Because I have so many Lantar/Garrus feelings and nowhere to put them.
> 
> That being said, I do not have a beta and no idea where to get one. So please feel free to point out any mistakes or inconsistencies.
> 
> Here goes nothing.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lantar has always been an expert at getting himself into trouble.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Point/Counterpoint Playlist](https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLlqseyaCZJnOfHmyb81cizbhOmNHR3t-m)

For six long years I've been in trouble  
No pleasure here on earth I found  
For in this world I'm bound to ramble  
I have no friends to help me now

 _[Man of Constant Sorrow](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OdYGnAFaeHU)_  
The Soggy Bottom Boys

\--

Lantar had been called many things in his life.

 _Weak_ is the first one he remembers, his father sneering at him when he cried. And Lantar cried often as a child -- his mother called him _sensitive,_ when trying to calm her husband down. They'd fight, which made Lantar cry more, hiding in his room and knowing it was all his fault.

His father never hit him, but Lantar almost wished he would, if it would stop the word _pathetic_ from constantly being hissed at him.

 _Fixer_ was what his mother called him. As a child, he'd bring home hurt animals, caring for them until they were well again. She'd smile and say he had such a gentle nature. _(Soft,_ was what his father called him.) As he got older, it was machines, tinkering with everything, trying to make antiquated machinery long ago made obsolete functional again. _(Useless,_ his father called him.)

And as a teen and into adulthood, it was people. The few friends he had were always hard-luck cases who often needed a place to stay. The even fewer relationships were always with someone with mountains of baggage, damaged by their past, who always ended up hurting him.

 _'You can't fix everyone,'_ his mother would tell him after every break-up. When he was fifteen, holding her hand as she lay sick and dying, all he wanted in the galaxy was to fix _her._

Out of everything, though, _coward_ was always the loudest. As a child, hiding from bullies. On his first mission, when they found him cowering in the trenches, hands clutching his helmet as bullets flew overhead. He got better, could keep a hold on his gun, could even fight -- and _well_ at that. But that didn't stop the terror that clenched at him during every mission.

He wasn't there, but could hear the word in his head -- _'COWARD'_ \-- when he never returned to his Cabal after going on leave.

He never argued that they were wrong. Ironic that he ended up on Omega, a disgusting shithole filled with mercs and criminals and people with nothing left to lose. Where there was everything to be afraid of. But again, he got better. He kept a gun in his nightstand, knew how to fight when necessary, honed his biotics even further. The terror shrank with every altercation he came out of alive, but it never truly went away.

But the fear of being found outweighed everything else.

\--

Lantar never did know how he got himself into these messes.

The merc gangs ran Omega, did what they wanted, (though only with the blessing of Aria T'Loak, of course,) and so it was nothing for a Blood Pack krogan to drag a turian out of Afterlife by his cowl to beat the shit out of him.

He tried to remember what he'd done to piss the krogan off as he curled up in the fetal position, trying to protect his face and gut from taking too much injury. Probably looked at him funny or something equally stupid. He considered using his biotics, but decided against it. In his experience, fighting against the Blood Pack just meant they came back for you later -- with a lot more guys.

"You want trouble? You found it!" The krogan was drunk, and Lantar gasped in pain when a good kick got him in the side. Fuck, fuck, _fuck,_ he was pretty sure that cracked a plate. "I'll drink from your turian skull!" The old fear seized him and he wondered if after everything, this was how he would die, beaten to death out back of a bar.

Here lies Lantar Sidonis, killed for looking funny. It figured.

But the next blow didn't come, and instead Lantar heard the noises and grunts of a krogan hitting the ground. When he opened his eyes and looked up, he saw a hand reaching down to him. A hand attached to an arm attached to probably the most handsome turian he'd ever seen.

Reflexively, Lantar took the hand, groaning in pain as the other turian hauled him up. He was tall, an inch or two above Sidonis, who was no slouch himself. Blue markings on grey plates -- _Cipritine? What the fuck is he doing out here?_ \-- and a very expensive looking visor covering one of his blue eyes.

He idly wondered if the turian was as lean and strong outside of his armor as he looked. _Holy shit, Lantar, not the time._

"Thanks," he mumbled, bringing his focus back to the here and now. The pain helped with that. Lantar hissed and brought a hand to his side. Definitely a cracked plate; a patch of dark blue was starting to seep into his clothes.

He didn't miss the stranger's concerned look, and waved it off. "I'm fine, it's not too bad." Hopefully, he wasn't lying. A cracked plate, while hardly life-threatening, could turn nasty, fast.

The other turian hesitated. "...If you're sure." His subvocals betrayed his worry, before he glanced up, looking past Lantar. "Because I might need some help this time around."

Lantar turned, and his stomach clenched. He'd been right; more Blood Pack filing out of the bar, this time outnumbering them five to one, mostly vorcha. They must have came out to check on their drunk friend -- who was still stumbling, trying to get up out of the trash heap he'd been tossed into. And failing.

He wanted to run. Could feel the muscles in his legs tense for the familiar motion. But when he looked back at his newfound ally, he stopped. There was a determination in his eyes, like none he'd ever seen before. Silently telling Lantar, _run if you want, but I'm staying._

This stranger was willing to stand down ten members of the Blood Pack just for helping some poor random fucker out. It was insane, and more than that, it was _stupid._ They should _both_ be running. But the other turian wasn't looking at Lantar anymore. He'd squared his shoulders and had his hands up, ready to fight.

Lantar nearly grabbed the guy's arm to pull them both away, but somehow knew it would be a futile effort. So instead, he also turned to face the Blood Pack -- _two Krogan and eight vorcha, **fuck,** what are we doing, we are going to **die**_ \-- and let his biotics crackle.

With a warp field, Lantar took first blood.

\--

There was a sense of giddiness post successful battle that Lantar had heard of, but never before experienced.

Until now.

He could feel himself shaking as he looked over the unconscious _(Dead? Maybe.)_ krogan and vorcha on the ground. He let out a trembling laugh, not just at the fact that they were still alive, but at the fact that they'd _won._ Not even just that, but at the fact that he hadn't been _scared_ during the fight. Not when fighting next to the _(extremely_ skilled) turian that had saved him.

They'd moved in sync, in _concert_ like Lantar had never experienced before, even in his Cabal, next to others he'd trained with for years. The stranger had known just when to duck a warp, when to guard Lantar while his amp recharged, and Lantar himself had been able to sense when the other needed a barrier, when to throw someone about to attack him from behind.

It was _amazing._

He startled when he felt a hand on his shoulder, and grinned up at the blue-marked turian. Who wasn't smiling. Instead, he looked worried. That was weird -- what was there to be worried about? They'd just gone up against a Blood Pack squad, just the two of them, and _won._ Sure, they should leave before more came, but who cared, they could take them out, bring on Garm and the whole Blood Pack, they could--

Shit, he was saying something Lantar couldn’t hear over the blood rushing in his aural canals. "...What?"

Lantar's knees gave out as the adrenaline finished its crash and all the pain came rushing back to him.

The other turian caught him, arm around his back, the other on his waist to steady him. He pulled back his hand and grimaced at the blood on it. "Shit. We need to get you to a hospital."

Lantar shook his head. "Closest one is an extortion racket. Overcharge without telling you, then send the Blue Suns to collect." He could hear the strain in his own voice. Breathing kind of hurt. He groaned in pain as the other turian pulled Lantar to his feet and moved his arm over his shoulder for more support. "I know a guy." No point in pretending he didn't need medical attention. He weakly raised an arm to point. "This way."

\--

Nalah Butler was a sweet woman -- a rarity on Omega. Fire red hair contrasted by icy blue eyes, considered beautiful by human standards, to Lantar's understanding. But those eyes were wide when she finally opened the door -- probably after confirming their identity through the peephole; she was too smart not to.

Immediately, she moved to help the armored turian support Lantar, and called back into the apartment. "Zeke! It’s Lantar!"

Ezekiel Butler rushed out of the back of the apartment at the panic in his wife's voice, lit cigarette hanging from his lips. He was a strong contrast to Nalah, older by a good solid ten years, with hair gone mostly white, and an eyepatch that drew attention away from his other features. "God fucking _damn_ it, Sidonis, what the hell _happened?"_ he growled as he put out his cigarette. Without waiting for a response, Butler gestured towards the couch. "Put him there." His voice softened noticeably when he turned to his wife. "Nalah, grab towels."

She smiled faintly, pulling away from Lantar. "I know the drill by now, Zeke. Lantar, I'm not using the white ones on you."

Lantar smiled weakly back at her. "Wouldn't dream of asking you."

"Stop fucking _talking,"_ Butler snarled, quickly washing his hands. "Couch. _Now."_

Lantar couldn't help his cry of pain as his fellow turian settled him on the couch and quickly backed away. He couldn't blame him; Butler had that effect on people. The human kneeled next to the couch, pulling a knife seemingly out of nowhere, and started cutting open Lantar's shirt. "I'll ask again: what the fuck happened?"

"I was jumped--"

"Sidonis, shut your spiky face before I stop being so careful with this knife. I'm not asking you, I'm asking _him."_ He gestured at the so-far-quiet turian, not looking back at him.

He seemed to startle at being addressed, and it took him half a second to find his tongue. "Blood Pack decided to start trouble at Afterlife. We took them out and got away before more could show up."

The fabric was now peeled away from the wound. Lantar wondered how bad it was, but knew better than to ask. Butler wasn't exactly the most gentle of people, and got worse when he was irritated. His face was stoic as he grabbed medi-gel, and started carefully shifting the cracked plates to apply it to the wound beneath.

 _Fuck,_ that hurt.

"So who the hell are you anyway then?" Butler didn't look back as he spoke, focused on his hands and Lantar's wound -- _wounds,_ apparently, judging by the pain when Butler's hands moved to his hip. "Sidonis can count his friends on one of _his_ hands, and two of them are Nalah and I. So, what, just some good fucking Samaritan?"

The turian looked confused. "A good what?"

"Forget it. What's your name?"

Lantar was feeling light-headed from the blood loss, and was vaguely aware of Nalah returning with the towels Butler had asked for. White ones. "Drink this." She helped him lift his head to drink; he could taste the sedative. A quick acting one, judging by the way he could already feel his eyelids drooping. "Relax, Lantar. Zeke's got you, you're in good hands." Her voice was distant; Lantar could feel himself drifting out of consciousness.

But he still managed to catch his savior's name. _"Garrus."_

\--

Garrus' first week on Omega was shaping up to be… well, not far off from what he expected, to be honest. He might have come here looking for a specific smuggler, but he'd barely gotten off the ship before he found what he was looking for -- some bastard skulls to crack.

He didn't mind making a few small detours during his search for the smuggler.

He shifted in discomfort as he stood, watching the human patch up the turian. He'd done what he'd intended -- stopped the krogan, even gotten the turian medical attention, albeit the unconventional sort. He should leave now, go on his way, remain an anonymous savior.

Garrus didn't move.

The human woman mistook his discomfort, and took Garrus' elbow, gently pulling him over to the kitchen table. "Zeke's bedside manner might be shit, but Lantar's in good hands, I promise." With a small shove, she sat him down at the table.

Garrus sat, but kept watching as Zeke worked on Lantar. He honestly hadn't expected Lantar to stay and fight with him, and after realizing the extent of the other turian's injuries, had been impressed that he had. Garrus knew intellectually that Omega couldn't be populated exclusively by oppressors and victims, but he'd never been good at seeing the middle ground.

"Here." The woman -- Nalah? -- set a steaming mug in front of him. "Sorry if you don't drink coffee; it's the only dextro drink I have right now, but I can get you some water if you prefer."

Apparently Lantar was a regular visitor if the humans kept _anything_ dextro on hand. "No, this is… I mean, thank you." He felt the faintest of tremors through his hand when he picked up his mug. That was strange.

He was worried.

Nalah smiled at him. "Thank _you,_ Garrus, for getting Lantar here."

"I… of course. I couldn't leave him there."

The scoff from Zeke spoke volumes about what he thought people _could_ do.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Strap in for the ride, kids.
> 
> ~~oh god i'm nervous about this~~
> 
> Thanks for reading my nonsense.


	2. Radio Silence

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Garrus gets to know the Butlers. Lantar gets to know Garrus.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Point/Counterpoint Soundtrack](https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLlqseyaCZJnOfHmyb81cizbhOmNHR3t-m)  
>   
> 
>  **potential triggers:** mention of suicide

Some people will surprise you with a real depth of feeling  
And others still may shock, shock, shock you  
With all that they're revealing  
But one thing's sure  
There's always more information than you asked for  
Ask for this

 _[Radio Silence](https://youtu.be/Gw-lSZKbK_w)_  
Harvey Danger

\--

He was going to hear it from Butler for bringing a stranger to his house.

Lantar hadn't known what to make of the human when they'd met. It had been his first day at the eezo plant, and Butler had been designated as his guide. Butler had, of course, rolled his eyes and let out a string of verbal abuse at Lantar as he guided him through the hallways, but he answered every question Lantar had, helped him whenever he needed it. Even bought him a drink after work.

Lantar still didn't know Butler’s story -- the man brushed off all but the most superficial of personal inquiries -- but it wasn't hard to tell that under the gruff demeanor was a good man.

And when he'd gotten mugged and stabbed in his first few months on Omega and realized he had no one else to call, Butler had swooped in and brought him to his own home instead of a hospital. Fixed him up with his own hands. Lantar had wondered if he had somehow managed to make a friend.

\--

Lantar felt sore when he came to, but at least it was sore instead of blinding pain. After the few times he'd had to be patched up by Butler -- no matter how hard you tried to avoid it, trouble always found you on Omega, and Lantar somehow always managed to make himself a target -- he'd learned that the human was stingy with pain meds. Pain was how you learned, he'd say.

"...When we landed, all we had were the clothes on our backs. We sold the ship for credits, but with the state it was in, there wasn't enough to get us offworld. So we split the money and stayed."

Nalah's voice. It took Lantar a moment to connect the story -- she'd escaped slavers with some other humans and ended up on Omega, just a few years ago.

Nalah and the turian -- _Garrus,_ Lantar remembered -- were seated in the kitchen with coffee, (the Butlers always kept dextro stuff on hand,) while Butler washed dishes.

"What about you, Garrus? You seem pretty fresh off the boat, how did you--"

 _"Sidonis."_ Butler's voice cut through his wife's as Lantar started to sit up. "You try and get off that fucking couch before I tell you to, and I swear to god I will strap you to it."

Lantar could feel Butler's good eye glaring at him, and quickly laid back down, grunting in discomfort. He still had a view of the table, and could see Garrus looking back at him, fidgeting with his coffee cup. Lantar felt uncomfortable under the intensity of his gaze. After a moment, Garrus turned back to Nalah. "Decided to go somewhere I could do some good."

Butler scoffed, drying his hands. "A good fucking Samaritan. That shit'll get you killed." He moved to kneel in front of the couch again to look at Lantar's wounds.

Garrus looked to Nalah. "Still don't know what that word is."

Nalah sighed in exasperation, but regarded her husband fondly. "It's from an old human religious story. A good Samaritan is someone who helps strangers without expecting anything in return. Zeke doesn't really have any room to talk, letting all sorts of people bleed on my couch while he patches them up."

"Not _strangers."_ Butler's scowl was deep as he changed Lantar's bandages, applying more medi-gel as he went. "Not everyone is as grateful to have their life saved as this sack of shit here."

"Love you too, Butler," Lantar joked, then hissed as the human poked too hard. "Okay, I mean _thank you._ Can I sit up now?" he asked as Butler stood.

"Yeah, you're fine. Keep medi-gel on the plate, and the wound underneath should heal itself. The rest isn't _too_ bad, keep physical exertion to a minimum."

"You know a lot about turian anatomy," Garrus observed, watching as Butler went to wash his hands.

The human turned to lean against the counter, lighting a cigarette once his hands were dry. There was a continuing note of anger in his voice as he spoke. "Might not have the fancy coat, but I'm a doctor. A medical doctor, that is. Went to school on the Citadel and everything. My focus was cross-species treatment."

Lantar made a surprised noise, now sitting up on the couch, pulling on a shirt that had been laid out for him. It wasn't designed for turians, but was big enough to do for now. "Really? I didn't know you'd actually gotten your degree."

"Well you never fucking asked, did you?"

Garrus looked amused at this bit of information. "Came here to do some good?"

"Fuck no, I was born in this shithole." Butler rolled his eyes; there was heat in his voice as he spoke, a low snarl hiding under his words. "That was my father's deal. Long line of doctors, decided he wanted more of a challenge or some stupid shit. My parents managed to scrape enough money together to send me to med school on the Citadel, hell if I know how." He paused to take a long drag of his cigarette, his other hand gripping the counter. "Then, in the middle of my residency, my mother got stabbed by one of his patients. I managed to get home just in time to see my father blow his fucking brains out." He turned his glare on Garrus. _"That’s_ what trying to 'do some good' gets you on Omega."

In the stunned silence that followed his tirade, Butler stormed off to the back.

Lantar didn't know what to say. There really wasn't anything _to_ say. He'd known Butler for years, worked beside him in the eezo processing plant, and had no idea that his friend had that sort of tragedy behind him. Then again, Butler would probably punch him in the face before accepting his pity.

And then patch up whatever damage he did.

Garrus looked equally uncomfortable, and slowly stood from his seat. "I… should probably leave."

 _"We_ should," Lantar added, groaning a bit as he stood up. "I'll buy you new towels, Nalah."

"The hell you will, Lantar, don't even worry about it." Nalah also stood, moving to Lantar to touch his arm. "Listen to Zeke, though. Minimal physical exertion."

He put his hand on hers. "Promise."

She smiled at him, then turned to Garrus. "It was nice to meet you, Garrus, and thank you for taking care of Lantar." She hesitated, then touched his arm as well. "I'm sorry about Zeke. He just… worries more than he's willing to admit, and honestly, doesn't practice what he preaches. Whatever you do, just be careful."

Garrus nodded once. "I will. Thank you for the coffee, and tell your husband thank you for me, also."

"I will." She gave his arm a squeeze.

Once Nalah had let them out, Lantar turned to Garrus. "I never got to thank you. For intervening _and_ for getting me here."

"You're welcome. And thanks for not stabbing me, I suppose." He paused. "Shit. That was probably insensitive, considering."

Lantar let out a small laugh. "Sometimes dark humor is all that gets you through. We never got to introduce ourselves." He extended a hand. "Lantar Sidonis."

Garrus took it, giving it a firm squeeze. "Garrus."

"Just Garrus?"

"Just Garrus."

There was a story there, a story that Lantar desperately wanted to know. But he knew better than to push. "Well, can I at least buy you dinner for saving me? There's actually some decent dextro places nearby, believe it or not."

Garrus hesitated -- Lantar had a feeling that social situations weren't really his forte. "That's not necessary."

"Fine, it's not necessary. I'm still offering, though."

"...All right."

\--

It turned out that once he relaxed a bit, Garrus was wonderful company. He was funny and charming once conversation had been eased into. He didn't talk much about himself, but Lantar had more or less expected that. He did let a few things slip though, things Lantar used to paint a bigger picture of who this turian that he was very quickly becoming fascinated with was.

First off, he was _young._ Younger than he looked anyway. Twenty-six. _Twenty-six,_ shit, Lantar only had six years on him, but twenty-six just felt so damn young.

Second, he'd been a detective for a good portion of his adult life. Which struck Lantar as crazy -- how young had he been when he made that rank?

Third, he was former C-Sec. That one Garrus hadn't explicitly said, having steered the conversation away after accidentally dropping that he'd been a detective. But Lantar was smart enough to piece it together.

From Cipritine. An officer's son. _Privileged._

Seriously, what the fuck was Garrus doing slumming it on Omega? Lantar didn't buy that he'd just one day upped and decided to leave a good life and career to run off and play do-gooder. Something had to have happened, but Garrus was very close-mouthed on what it might have been.

By the time dinner was finished, Lantar's side was aching again. Once they were outside the restaurant, Garrus caught him pressing his hand to his side and grimacing. "You're probably ready for some more medi-gel."

Lantar nodded. "Changing the bandages too." He paused. "What about you? You didn't get banged up during the fight, did you?"

"Just a few bruises. Butler looked me over and cleared me." Of course that's all it was. Lantar didn't think he'd ever seen a fighter like Garrus before. "Let me walk you home."

"You don't have to do that." Lantar wanted him to do that.

"Fine, I don't have to." Garrus smirked at him. "Still offering, though."

Lantar laughed at Garrus turning his words back on him. "Alright, fine. Walk me home."

They walked, Garrus keeping his stride slow for Lantar's sake, not commenting when the older turian had to stop every now and again to catch his breath.

Apparently though, he'd had enough of small talk. "So… you're a biotic."

Ah, fuck. Lantar had been hoping Garrus was just going to let that go. He pushed away from the building, forcing a smile as they resumed walking. "Spotted that, did you?"

"Mhm. Somewhere around you hitting three vorcha with a solid warp field."

"Not gonna lie, I was pretty proud of that one."

Garrus let a moment of silence stretch between them. _Just ask,_ Lantar mentally pleaded, feeling the tension in the air. Turian biotics were rare as is, and seeing one outside a Cabal? Almost unheard of.

_Just fucking ask, already._

But Garrus didn't. Whether it was because he was assuming or just didn't want to pry, Lantar didn't know. But he let them walk in silence until Lantar led them to his apartment.

"...This is me," he said lamely, shifting awkwardly on his feet. "Hope you didn't have to go far out of your way."

Garrus shook his head. "Staying at a hotel not too far east of here."

Wait. "A hotel?"

"Yes? I've only been on Omega for two days, not much time to find permanent lodging."

Two days? Spirits, he really was fresh off the boat. "You know all your stuff's been stolen by now, right?"

Garrus chuckled and tapped his visor. "I've set up extra security; I'm not an idiot."

And of _course_ he was a tech wizard as well. "Right. Sorry. People new to Omega have a tendency to get into trouble fast."

"If I recall correctly, _I_ was the one who rescued _you_ from getting your face stomped in by a krogan."

Lantar rolled his eyes. "Okay, fine, you can take care of yourself, point taken." His hand touched his sore side as he looked up at the other turian. "...Thank you again, for that. I owe you."

Garrus' subvocals gave a gentle hum that caused Lantar's chest to warm a bit. "I'll have to collect some time." And with a wave, he disappeared into Omega's foot traffic.

Lantar stared after him for a moment before entering his apartment. It was a small one bedroom place, dark but cozy. He'd collected all sorts of rugs and wall hangings to hide the cracked floor and peeling paint. For a slum on Omega, Lantar had felt like he'd managed to make the place homey.

Groaning slightly, Lantar peeled off the borrowed shirt. He must have looked like an asshole in the thing. The bandages hadn't seeped through, but he definitely needed to apply more medi-gel. In obnoxious to reach places. He thought about calling Garrus back, asking him to help--

He forgot to get any sort of contact information for Garrus.

"Fuck."

\--

After closing and locking the door, Nalah pressed her forehead against the cool metal. Omega was a dream compared to where she came from, but she hated how the asteroid managed to grind down people's souls nearly as much as slavery did. Being trapped, physically or mentally, hurt the spirit.

Pushing away from the door, she headed back to the bedroom after her husband. For all of his rough edges and sharp spines, Zeke really was one of the kindest people she'd ever met. Despite what he'd said to Garrus, she'd never once seen him turn away someone who needed help, stranger or no. They'd actually met when the mine she worked in collapsed; he'd tended to her after she'd been pulled out.

If anything, it wasn’t strangers that were the problem for Zeke. It was friends.

He was sitting on their bed when she reached the bedroom, eyepatch pushed up as he rubbed at the scarred over socket. Nalah stepped in front of him, resting her hands on his shoulders as she leaned down to press a kiss on his forehead. "Sorry," he grumbled, a hand going to her hip to pull her closer.

"It's alright." She ran a hand through his hair and let him rest his head against her stomach. Seeing Lantar hurt like that had shaken Zeke, Nalah could tell. He worried about Lantar as much as she did, even if he showed it differently.

Especially if Lantar found himself wrapped up in this Garrus, which seemed all too likely.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading my nonsense.


	3. Let Go

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lantar isn't the best at making good life choices.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Point/Counterpoint Soundtrack](https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLlqseyaCZJnOfHmyb81cizbhOmNHR3t-m)

Drink up baby doll  
Are you in or are you out?  
Leave your things behind  
'Cause it's all going off without you  
Excuse me too busy you're writing your tragedy  
These mishaps  
You bubble-wrap  
When you've no idea what you're like

_[Let Go](https://youtu.be/-_r3UoL9tME)_  
Frou Frou

\--

Lantar didn't see Garrus again for weeks.

And definitely not for lack of trying. Everywhere he went, he kept an eye out for a tall, blue-marked turian. He shouldn't have been hard to spot; someone like Garrus stuck out on Omega. Head held high rather than tucked down, trying to avoid attention. Clean, well-maintained armor. Maybe he'd learned how to blend in.

Even so, Lantar looked. He scouted around Afterlife, even considered cruising by some hotels, though drew the line at that.

But Garrus ended up coming to him.

\--

The first thing Lantar spotted when he arrived home from work was the sniper rifle propped carefully up against his kitchen counter. Covered in blue blood.

_Shit._ Someone had been in his apartment, or, judging by the trail of blood spatters to the bedroom and sound of running water from the bathroom, was _currently in his apartment._

Why did he keep his goddamn pistol in his nightstand?!

No one else had access to his apartment. It didn't seem like anything else had been touched, but Lantar still had a warp at the ready as he cautiously entered the bedroom. As he expected, the blood trailed further into the closed bathroom door. Someone was sure making themselves at home _in his fucking apartment._

But his heart stopped when he saw a familiar visor sitting on his unmade bed.

_Garrus._

Lantar dropped the warp, and didn't hesitate as he rushed into the bathroom. And there he was, the turian he'd been looking for for weeks, stripped down to the waist and leaning heavily on the bathroom counter, trying to staunch the blood flowing from his shoulder.

Garrus had the nerve to smile at him. "Hey. I let myself in."

"What the fuck is _wrong with you?"_ The words rushed out of Lantar as fast as he moved to Garrus, taking over the task of applying pressure to Garrus' shoulder. "What the fuck are you even _doing here?"_

Garrus groaned, blue eyes closing. "Didn't have anywhere else to go. Eclipse found where I was staying. Don't worry, I wasn't followed."

"That's not--" Lantar wrapped an arm around Garrus' waist, helping ease him down to sit on the floor. "A wound like this -- you should have gone to Butler." He pulled away the towel and grimaced -- that was a bullet hole.

"Not as bad as it looks, I promise." He rested his head back against the bathroom counter. "Besides, I don't think he likes me very much. Wasn't sure if I was still considered a stranger or not."

"He would have treated you." Lantar shook his head. "I'm calling him." He made to stand, but Garrus' hand grabbing his wrist stopped him.

"Lantar." Garrus' subvocals had a note of pleading to them as he looked up at the elder turian. Lantar melted. "Please, it's fine, I can take care of it."

Against his better judgment, Lantar settled kneeling on the floor. But when Garrus used a voice like _that,_ how could he say no?

"Okay. But at least let me help. What do you need?"

\--

He probably shouldn't have been surprised that Garrus was a fair hand at field medicine, only really needing Lantar to hand him things. He'd probably seen a lot more combat than Lantar himself had. As he carefully cleaned his wounds, (of course he also had a taken a bullet in his fucking _thigh,)_ it became obvious that he had been correct in saying that it wasn't as bad as it looked.

Which made Lantar realize just how hurt _he'd_ been after the Blood Pack fight. It made him feel better about the fact that his side was still sore, even weeks later.

Garrus seemed more exhausted than anything, physically and mentally. He managed to keep his focus until the very end, letting Lantar go ahead and finish bandaging him up.

"So… you gonna tell me why Eclipse mercs decided to find your hotel?"

A faint groan escaped Garrus as he let his head rest against the counter again. "Might have pissed them off a little bit."

"A _little bit?”_

"A little bit."

Lantar sighed and sat back, having finished with the bandages. "Butler's right, you know. You're going to get yourself killed."

"Hnn."

There was no point in talking to him right now; Garrus seemed ready to fall asleep there on the bathroom floor. Which was far more endearing than Lantar wanted to dwell on. Without thinking, he touched Garrus' face to get his attention. "Hey. You're exhausted. Let's get you to bed."

Garrus grumbled assent and let Lantar help him up. Once he was seated on the bed, Lantar left him to finish removing his armor while he grabbed a pair of pants for him to borrow. They'd probably be a bit short; Garrus was a little taller than Lantar was, though leaner in build. A more narrow waist, sharper hips. And judging by how solid and heavy he was, made of pure fucking _muscle._

_Bring it back, Lantar._

Garrus pulled the pants on -- yes, short, but they worked -- and Lantar set his visor on the nightstand. Carefully. He was pretty sure it would take at least three months of his paychecks to replace it. "Okay. Pass out now. I've got questions for you when you wake up."

"Hnn." Eloquent. Lantar left Garrus drowsily arranging pillows to support his neck and body just right. As he walked into the living room, he once again caught sight of the bloody sniper rifle against the kitchen counter. Lantar was hardly an expert on the subject, but even he could tell it was a _nice_ rifle. He thought about cleaning it for Garrus, but decided against it. He had a feeling that the other turian was very particular about it. Besides, it wasn't as though there wasn't plenty of other blood for him to clean up.

Garrus was going to be trouble for him, Lantar knew. He should kick him out once he woke up, probably wake him up _to_ kick him out, tell him to keep away, that he didn't want to get caught up in any mess that Garrus was getting himself into.

But even as he thought it, crouching down with a sponge to scrub the blood out of his rug, Lantar knew he wasn't going to. He _owed_ Garrus, though he was pretty sure this made them even. But there was something about him. Okay, something about him _other_ than the fact that he was painfully attractive.

There was something _good_ about him. Lantar didn't know what happened with Eclipse, (though he was certainly going to interrogate Garrus about it once the other woke up,) but judging from the conversation with Butler, he had suspicions.

Not to mention, Garrus already seemed to trust Lantar. Enough to sneak into his apartment when he was wounded, enough to fall asleep on his bed. Had he planned to be here when Lantar got home? Or had his intention been to raid the medical supplies and then leave, leaving Lantar to wonder what had happened to them?

Lantar hoped it was the former. It had been so long since someone had really _trusted_ him, and the feeling was far more addictive than he remembered.

\--

By the time Garrus woke up a few (but probably not enough) hours later, Lantar had finished cleaning the apartment. Minus the sniper rifle, of course. Garrus' armor had been collected and neatly piled in a corner. Garrus had slept hard, not even waking up when Lantar went in to clean the bathroom.

Lantar was stretched out on the couch, reading, when Garrus emerged from the bedroom, still just in the pair of pants he'd been given. "Hey." He paused when Lantar looked up at him. "Sorry about just showing up like that." Another pause. "And breaking in." And another. "And leaving blood everywhere. I would have helped clean."

Lantar shook his head and tossed his datapad onto the coffee table. "It's fine. Better than you bleeding out on my doorstep. How did you get in here anyhow? The security system was still on when I got home."

Garrus shrugged. "Bypassed it. I've got experience with similar systems. Locking back up just seemed polite."

_"Polite._ Right." Lantar sat up and gestured to the other side of the couch; there was space for two. Garrus didn't sit though, instead moving to pick up his sniper rifle. "I figured you'd want to take care of that yourself. Looks like a fancy custom job."

Garrus nodded, picking up the rifle. "HMWSR. Improved sighting, kinetic coil, modded to fire Hammerhead rounds." His voice had the same sort of tone that a mother might use to describe her newborn child. He sat on the floor on the other side of the coffee table, laying it on the table with the same sort of care that a mother might use to _hold_ her newborn child. His expression closed off though, and his voice got far away. "Friend helped me upgrade it."

HMWSR? Lantar scoured his brain for the name; his weapons knowledge was nothing to write home about, and even less so when it came to sniper rifles. It definitely wasn't a big manufacturer -- maybe some special C-Sec prototype gear?

Garrus was lost in thought, staring down at his rifle. Whoever this friend was, they seemed important. And potentially dead. Lantar was burning with curiosity, but had a strong feeling he'd be brushed off.

So instead, he awkwardly cleared his throat. "I've got a gun cleaning kit. Nothing fancy, but I figure yours was back at your hotel?"

That snapped Garrus out of his thousand-yard stare. "Yeah. Thanks."

Lantar quickly grabbed the kit and handed it to Garrus, then sat back down on the couch. "Speaking of your hotel, feel like telling me why Eclipse soldiers went looking for it?"

Garrus' subvocals hummed briefly as he set to taking apart his rifle with the methodical manner and familiarity of a career soldier. "Told you. I pissed them off a little bit."

_"Garrus."_ The frustration in Lantar's undertone caused Garrus' hands to pause. "I helped you dig a fucking _bullet_ out of your thigh. The least you can do is be honest with me and stop dodging my questions."

Garrus frowned, quiet for a long moment before resuming cleaning his gun. "I interrupted one of their red sand shipments, and apparently didn't cover my trail well enough. A rookie mistake; I won't underestimate them again."

_"Again?"_ The word nearly exploded out of Lantar's mouth. Garrus frowned the way he did when he realized he'd said too much. "You fucked with Eclipse and you're seriously planning on doing it _again?_ Spirits, just how insane are you? Do you have some kind of death wish?"

Garrus' silence was far more telling than he probably meant for it to be.

Lantar groaned and rubbed his forehead. "Fuck, I'm sorry, that was unnecessary."

"It's fine. I'm sorry, I shouldn't have come here. I shouldn't be dragging you into this mess. I'll leave once--"

"No, shit, that's not what I meant." He slid off the couch to sit on the floor, now at eye level with Garrus. "I'm glad you came here, alright? It's good to know you're not dead somewhere."

Lantar wanted to pick at it so bad. He wanted to know why Garrus was _really_ here, why he seemed so intent on pissing off every mercenary in the Terminus systems, why he apparently felt like he had nothing to lose.

But not now. The wrong move would send Garrus running, and that was the last thing Lantar wanted.

A note of confusion ran through Garrus' subvocals. "You barely know me."

Lantar felt his throat warm a bit. "Well, what I know is pretty decent. Needless to say, you made a damn good first impression. So stay here for now, until you get your feet, until you can figure out what to do with… whatever you're doing.”

Never mind what Garrus was doing, _what the hell was **he** doing?!_ Inviting this near stranger who was going to get himself killed to temporarily move in with him? He'd already screwed up once and Eclipse found him, what if it happened again? Was Lantar willing to die for this crazy bastard?

Garrus looked as surprised as Lantar felt. "That's not-- I'm not sure that's a good idea."

He wasn't wrong.

"What are you going to do, get another hotel? If you've pissed them off enough, I can almost guarantee Eclipse is going to case them all, looking for you. And whoever runs them will give you up in a heartbeat."

_Lantar, what the fuck are you thinking._

"Lantar." Lantar tried to not focus on the way Garrus said his name. "I can't ask you to do that."

"You're not asking. I'm _offering."_

Garrus didn't look convinced.

"Okay, how about this then. I'm going to update my security, and I'm giving you my codes. You do what you want with them."

Without another word, Lantar stood and went to do just that, leaving Garrus with his rifle.

\--

Back in his C-Sec days, Garrus hated stakeouts. And unfortunately, due to his proficiency as a sniper, he got put on them a lot. Nearly as often as doing his detective work. And if anything, his hatred for them since arriving on Omega had intensified. That didn't change the fact that they were necessary, though.

At the moment, he was camped out in the warehouse district, prone under a tarp, his sniper rifle aimed at a storage unit three buildings away. He'd already figured out that one of Omega's smaller gangs used it as a meeting place for weapons deals. Now, it was just a matter of waiting for a pick up. He'd already been here for an hour, and spirits it was far too hot for this.

Luckily, boredom didn’t dissuade Garrus, and he had long ago mastered the art of dividing his focus. One eye on his scope, with the other he scanned the extranet on his visor, reading up on human religions. Butler's good samaritan comment had triggered a memory -- 'angel,' he’d been called. He'd heard the term before, but didn't know anything about it. So while he waited, he researched.

Spiritual beings, intermediaries between deities and people, showing up in several different religions in different forms. The first children of god, according to some faiths. The amount of information on them was overwhelming, so he just scanned for now, making mental bookmarks to go back to.

Seraph. Malaikah. Yazata. Cherub. Malachim. Deva. _Archangel._ The last one resounded.

Before he could read further, Garrus saw movement in his scope. He exhaled and pulled the trigger.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun fact: the draft subtitle of that first section was 'Lantar Doesn't Stalk Garrus.'
> 
> Thanks for reading my nonsense.


	4. We Will Fall Together

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lantar gets himself in deep. Garrus tries to stop him, but not that hard.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Point/Counterpoint Soundtrack](https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLlqseyaCZJnOfHmyb81cizbhOmNHR3t-m)

And when we fall, we will fall together  
No one will catch us so we'll catch ourselves  
And when we roam, we will roam forever  
No one will understand what we meant

[_We Will Fall Together_](https://youtu.be/j7sNp6Sk40o)  
Streetlight Manifesto

\--

Garrus used the codes. Not every day, but most days, it seemed.

They settled into a strange sort of domesticity. As the weeks went on, Garrus spent more and more time there. Lantar would sometimes find him there when he came home from work, or, more often, leave his bedroom in the morning to see Garrus curled up on the couch, asleep. On rare occasions, he'd even wake up to the burning smell of Garrus attempting to make breakfast. He couldn't cook to save his life, but spirits, it was adorable that he tried.

Every now and again, Garrus would even just stay in for the night. Those were Lantar's favorites. They'd get take away, maybe sit down and watch a vid, or even once or twice Lantar tried to teach him how to cook. It didn't go well.

He never told Lantar where he went when he was gone, and Lantar didn't ask. He knew he wouldn't get an answer, and could guess well enough. Especially still having to help patch Garrus up periodically.

He wasn't sure why he expected things to stay compartmentalized.

\--

Lantar enjoyed his walk home from work. The path took him through a comparatively quiet warehouse district. No clubs, no apartments, just periodic shady business deals that let him pass as long as he kept his eyes forward.

Though sometimes, not often, that walk was interrupted by gunshots.

Reflexively, Lantar ducked into an alley and hid behind some trash cans. Fuck, those shots were way too close for comfort. His hand drifted down to the pistol he now carried on him at all times; Garrus' activities had him running on a higher level of paranoia than usual.

Maybe they wouldn't notice him. Maybe they'd know he was just a bystander who had no interest in getting in the middle of their skirmish. But when Lantar heard footsteps running and saw a flash of familiar blue and black armor pass by his alley, his heart jumped into his throat and he knew he wasn't going to be able to just keep out of it.

So he drew his pistol, and waited for whoever was chasing after Garrus. It didn't seem like the other turian had gone far; Lantar heard a bang on a dumpster from the alley over, and some scrabbling noises. Probably trying to get some height on his pursuers -- he was a sniper after all.

"This way!" Idiots. Lantar heard footsteps approaching at a run, three, maybe four guys. Once they passed, Lantar leaned out of his own alley, and popped off a shot, hitting one of them in the thigh. Before they could turn around, a bullet from above exploded one of their heads.

Thank the spirits that he was right about Garrus.

A few more shots, (the most accurate ones were from Garrus, unsurprisingly,) and all four were down. Lantar recognized the red face paint --Talons. A low-level gang, but still big enough where there were likely others nearby.

Lantar jumped, pistol up reflexively when he heard a thud next to him, but dropped it immediately when he saw that it was Garrus.

The other turian pulled his helmet off. "Lantar, what are you _doing_ here?"

"Me? I was walking _home!"_ Lantar could feel his hands shaking, and put away his pistol. "What are _you_ doing this time that has the Talons after you?"

Garrus looked past Lantar, who turned to look as well. No one there. "Something that probably still has them after me. Come on." He grabbed Lantar's hand to pull them down the street at a run.

Lantar tried not to think about the feeling of Garrus' hand in his. It made him not scared.

\--

What should have been a calm ten minute walk home took them the better part of an hour. Garrus led them over rooftops, through side streets that Lantar didn't even know were there, stopping every now and again to use his omnitool to erase security footage. Apparently he had taken his promise to keep Lantar's apartment secure _very_ seriously. Even when they got to the apartment, they spent a good ten minutes crowded together in an alley before going in.

With a sigh, Garrus set down his rifle and started unbuckling his armor. It was rare for him to remove it, and Lantar was pleased he felt safe enough here. "So what was with the Talons?" Lantar asked, conversationally, crossing his arms in front of his chest.

Garrus looked at him, faint surprise humming in his subvocals. Lantar had never before asked about the trouble he got into, not since that first night. But this time, Lantar had gotten involved. He thrummed frustration when he spoke again. "I shot a guy for you; you _owe_ me an explanation."

It seemed for a moment that Garrus was going to balk. Lantar knew himself; he would bend if Garrus refused. But luckily, he didn't have to. Garrus sighed again, and finished stripping out of his armor before sitting down heavily on the couch. "Nothing major. They were trying to shake down a store in the market. Took them out, but there were a lot more nearby than I was expecting. Had a hard time giving them the slip."

Lantar watched him for a long moment. A few months was apparently all it took for him to be wrapped up in this crazy bastard's insane mission to piss off all the gangs on Omega. He was going to get himself _killed_ and Lantar found himself willing to do almost anything to make sure that didn't happen.

Lantar sighed and nudged Garrus' leg with his foot. "Come on. We've got some drinks in the fridge. Let's take them to the roof."

\--

The roof of his apartment building was probably Lantar's favorite place on all of Omega. The building was one of the tallest in the area, letting him look over the dim skyline. There wasn't much traffic in the area, and the other tenants almost never utilized the space. It was probably the closest thing to peaceful that was possible on the asteroid.

It was the first time Lantar had brought Garrus up here. They stood next to each other, drinks in hand, shoulders almost touching as they leaned back against the railing. Garrus was quiet, swirling his drink as he stared into his cup, as though it would reveal the answer to some cosmic question.

Lantar, for his part, was looking up. They hadn't said more than a few words since coming up here; he was content to let Garrus contemplate life for the time being. He just wanted the other turian to know he was there.

About halfway into their drinks, Garrus finally spoke. "You didn't have to get involved today. It's not bravado -- I _could_ have handled them."

"I know." Lantar's words were a faint hum. "I know what you're capable of. But I still wanted to help." He turned to look at the other turian. "Garrus, you might be absolutely insane, but it's in a way that helps people." He laughed. "Shit, you had been here, what, two days before saving my life? The galaxy _needs_ people like that." Garrus tensed beside him. Lantar was quiet for a long moment, debating his next words. "And people like that need to have someone watching their back. Whatever crusade you're on, I want to help you."

Garrus shook his head slightly and moved away from the railing. "You know there's not an end anywhere in sight, right?"

Lantar chuckled. "Oh trust me, I'm aware. And I want in anyway. I mean, _look_ at this place. Filled with criminals nobody can touch, doing whatever the hell they want."

"We can _do_ something about that." There was a sudden energy to his voice, an eagerness that Lantar hadn't heard before. "Make those bastards think twice before murdering someone in the street."

Lantar mentally pumped the brakes. Garrus wasn't content to stick with taking down muggers and shaking up the small time gangs. "I'm all for cracking skulls, but Omega's problems are bigger than just the two of us." He put a hand on Garrus' shoulder, a silent _slow down._ "Small-timers we can handle. We go at the gangs head on, we'll find _our own_ heads on a stick." Hopefully he could deter Garrus from going after fucking _Eclipse_ again.

_"That's_ why it won't just _be_ the two of us. That's why we'll put together a _team."_ Garrus leaned in, and Lantar's breath caught in his throat. "We start hitting the gangs where it hurts, _prove_ we can get things done, and people -- _good people_ \-- will start lining up to join us."

Oh _fuck_ Lantar had not meant to fan the flames this high. He'd just wanted Garrus to know he had someone at his back, not inspire him to start building a damned _army._ He should have known better than to think he could temper Garrus into thinking smaller.

Lantar could feel the old fear rising, his stomach twisting at the idea of going after the big names, trying to take down the Blood Pack, Eclipse, the _Blue fucking Suns._ Garrus was a madman; they were going to end up in pieces, displayed across Omega as an example to others who might try and fight. He needed to get out, rescind his offer of help, get as far away as he could from this _crazy son of a bitch._

But as he looked into Garrus' earnest expression, heard the determination humming from him, he knew he wasn't going to. He seemed incapable of saying _no_ to Garrus, which was already becoming very, _very_ dangerous.

He let his arm fall, holding back a sigh of resignation. "You _really_ want to put the fear in them, your squad's gonna need a good name."

Garrus' subvocals hummed darkly, in a way that made Lantar shiver. "Oh, I've thought of that."

\--

Unsurprisingly, it was impossible to have a clean break when leaving the Blue Suns.

Naomi Weaver had not stayed in one place for more than a month in the past year. She knew she wasn't high on their priority list, never having climbed particularly high in the organization, but the few skirmishes she'd had with them were enough to keep her moving.

Except for once or twice every few weeks, she found herself at Antares' apartment.

She'd met the turian here on Omega a few years ago, after getting her dishonorable discharge from the Alliance, completely blind drunk at Afterlife. For some reason, she'd decided to follow him home. Not for sex, but apparently because she wanted to find out how turians sleep. Before getting to sate her curiosity, however, Naomi had stolen his bed and banished him to the couch.

Antares took her to breakfast the next morning and it was after _that_ that they'd had sex.

She woke up to the feeling of careful talons gently dragging up the skin of her back, almost light enough to tickle. Naomi groaned and stretched, arching up into the sensation. "Don't tease."

Antares chuckled and started properly scratching her back, though still careful of his talons on her skin. "Better?"

"Yyyyeeesssss, that's the good shit."

She heard him humming in that strange turian way; she knew him well enough to recognize it as contentment. But it was morning, and Naomi knew if she didn't leave soon, she was going to stay with him in bed all day.

He seemed to read her mind, and the humming stopped. "It's still early."

"I know," she sighed as she sat up, reaching over to stroke his mandible. "But they already came here looking for me once." Her voice dropped. "I can't, Antares, you know that."

This time, his hum was one of disappointment. "I know."

Naomi was already standing, pulling on her clothes from where they'd landed on the floor last night. Antares didn't say anything, just quietly watched her. She didn't know his past. They'd never needed to talk about it. She did, however, know that she most likely did not need to worry about him as much as she did. She'd seen him stare down the barrel of a gun and not even flinch; no one who didn't have familiarity with violence was capable of that sort of resolve.

She planted a kiss on his faceplate before leaving. Every time she left him, she told herself it would be the last time. And every time, she knew it would be a lie.

No matter the danger for either of them, Naomi couldn't bring herself to stay away from Antares Melenis.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A small bit of dialogue was lifted from the Homeworlds comic. _Comics_ use _emphasis_ like so goddamn _much_ you guys.
> 
> This chapter got a last minute song change. If you like ska even a little bit, you probably already know them, but if not, please go listen to Streetlight Manifesto. Their music provided a _lot_ of inspiration for this whole story.
> 
> Thanks for reading my nonsense.


	5. Dirty Harry

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Garrus is right, there are others out there. Archangel grows.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Point/Counterpoint Soundtrack](https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLlqseyaCZJnOfHmyb81cizbhOmNHR3t-m)

I need a gun to keep myself from harm  
The poor people are burning in the sun  
But they ain't got a chance  
They ain't got a chance  
I need a gun  
'Cause all I do is dance  
'Cause all I do is dance

_[Dirty Harry](https://youtu.be/qNIpG4m87ko)_  
Gorillaz

\--

_Archangel._

Lantar had never heard the word before, but after Garrus explained the term to him, he decided it fit almost uncomfortably well. He'd never had much interest or time for even turian faiths, let alone ones from other species. He sure as hell had never felt any sort of benevolent force guiding his life.

But Archangel. A force of protection. Of justice. Of _vengeance._

Garrus insisted that it was _their_ name, of the two of them, and of the others that would surely follow. But Lantar knew better.

Garrus was the Archangel. And Lantar was completely content to be his shadow.

\--

On their very first outing, within days of deciding to go along with Garrus' crazy bullshit, Lantar got shot.

Well, not shot, the bullet had just grazed his thigh. It was his own fault; he'd forgotten to check his corners. It could have been a hell of a lot worse. But with the way Garrus fussed while he patched him up, you'd think the wound was life threatening.

"Can't _believe_ I let you go without proper armor, what the hell was I _thinking?"_ he grumbled to himself as he dressed the wound.

Lantar was slightly grateful for the pain; it distracted him from the fact that Garrus' hands were moving over his upper thigh. "Hey, not your fault, my dumb ass went in there without it." 

"I still should have--" Frustration and worry rumbled through Garrus' subvocals. "Do you even _own_ armor?"

"Noooo?"

Lantar winced under Garrus' glare. It was the same look he'd gotten when Garrus had found out that the only weapon Lantar owned was his low end stock model pistol. "How the hell have you managed to survive this long?"

"Good looks and charm?"

Garrus rolled his eyes. "We're getting you armor."

"I don't need--" Lantar yelped as Garrus pressed a bit harder than necessary. Spirits, it was like dealing with Butler. "Okay, we're getting me armor."

\--

There was no way Lantar was getting armor.

Not here anyway. He'd suggested going to Kenn's Salvage to cobble together a suit, but Garrus had quickly quashed that idea; apparently if they were going to do this, they needed the top shelf stuff.

Which is how Lantar ended up in an armory that carried military grade armor and weapons, each with a price tag that made his brain do involuntary math on how many of his paychecks it would take to buy even the cheapest set of armor in the store.

Who knew that being a vigilante would be so expensive?

Lantar moved over to where Garrus was sliding through the kiosk, one hand over his chin in contemplation. He didn't look up when Lantar approached. "I'm assuming you'd prefer light armor -- it won't interfere with your biotics, and it won't be too cumbersome, since you're not used to wearing armor. Ursa model might work well."

Lantar nodded vaguely as Garrus started rattling off specs. It all went over his head; the only armor he'd ever worn was standard Hierarchy issue for Cabals. He didn't have much of a choice in what they gave him.

Garrus finally looked back at him, taking a quick look up and down his body before meeting his eyes. "It'll look good on you, too."

The comment was delivered so casually, but Lantar felt the back of his neck heat up all the same. 

He looked over Garrus' shoulder, simultaneously disappointed and relieved to break the eye contact. The armor was a simple grey and black, and…

Lantar winced when he saw the attached price point. Intellectually, he knew Garrus was right -- he _needed_ armor if they were going to be doing this. The small ache in his thigh confirmed that -- he was going to be shot at, and almost definitely _actually shot_ eventually. Next time it probably wouldn't be a graze, either. He'd helped Garrus patch himself up enough times to know that he wouldn't stand a chance without armor.

The old fear began to clench in his gut.

But it disappeared when Garrus rumbled his name, low and concerned. "Lantar?"

Lantar looked up into a blue eye, and idly wished Garrus didn't feel the need to hide the other behind that damned visor all the time. "Yeah, I mean, sounds good," he fumbled, then followed it up with a wince. "Do you, uh, think they do payment plans?" His voice was quiet and hummed embarrassment.

Garrus tilted his head in confusion. "What do you mean?"

Fuck, talking about money was so uncomfortable. Lantar raised a hand to scratch at the back of his neck. "I just mean, it'll take me, um, awhile to save up for--"

"What are you talking about? You're not paying for this, I am." He spoke as though it was the most obvious thing in the galaxy.

Lantar jerked his head back. "Garrus, you don't--"

"I know I don't. And I'm not offering. I'm _insisting."_ Garrus turned back to the kiosk, sliding in his credit chit to purchase the armor. "You're not going to get hurt again if I have anything to say about it."

They both knew armor could only do so much about that. But Garrus' intent, his meaning, made Lantar's neck warm again. "Garrus--"

"We're getting you an SMG too. And a better pistol."

Lantar was in Garrus' debt once again. He was finding that he didn't really mind it there.

\--

It was a simple mission, Lantar kept reminding himself. Get into the warehouse, destroy a few crates of red sand, get out before backup arrived.

The Grim Angels were a small group that was only starting to establish a presence on Omega. The larger gangs had ignored them so far; they didn't care about the smaller gangs as long as they knew their place and didn't try and muscle in on operations. Lantar had convinced Garrus that Omega's small players were where they should focus their attentions while it was just the two of them. Garrus was still adamant that they needed to go bigger, that the needed people would come to them if they did, but he acquiesced, at least for now.

So they staked out the warehouse. Marked the times when there were the fewest people. Get in, destroy crates, get out. Simple. Easy.

He struggled to hold onto that thought as he covered Garrus, the other turian working on hacking the warehouse door. It was taking too long, wasn't it?

"Garrus--"

"Just another second," Garrus hummed lightly, unconcerned. "Their security guy is good, better than I'd expect from such small-timers." He sounded impressed. "Wonder how they managed to end up with an asset like that."

"You can hack it though, right?"

The door slid open in response to his question. Lantar didn't need to see Garrus' face to know the smug look was there. "Oh shut up."

"I didn't say a word."

Lantar hoped that Garrus knew his glare was there in the same way.

The front room was empty, as they expected it to be; the guards normally stationed here had been on a smoke break when they'd quietly been taken care of. Lantar had suggested looping the cameras to hide their presence, but Garrus disagreed. "Let them see," he had said. "The whole point is to let all of them see that Archangel won't tolerate their presence on Omega." Lantar had known even before he'd said it that he was going to be shot down. Garrus didn't _do_ low-key.

Lantar closed and guarded the door as Garrus moved to the next lock. He took a glance at his omni-tool. According to their estimates, they had about 90 seconds before the Grim Angels would manage to get any people down here -- minus the two behind the door who no doubt already had been radioed about the intruders. Lantar wasn't worried about them; he was worried about this security expert that Garrus was still admiring, judging by the hum in his subvocals.

Lantar huffed in annoyance. "You can get their security guy's contact info later, we're on a time frame."

"Nothing wrong with admiring technical expertise. Besides, I'm still better. And anyway, we don't have to worry about--"

Whatever Garrus was about to say, Lantar was pretty sure it wasn't the word _explosions._

When the door slid open, Lantar dropped to the ground at the sound, while Garrus barely managed to roll far enough to mostly dodge the flames and debris, his armor getting only slightly singed. Fuck fuck _fuck,_ what the fuck was happening?! The Grim Angels wouldn't risk their own supply just to kill two invaders, there was something else going on, _someone_ else that they hadn't accounted for.

A salarian specifically, in plain black armor, who darted out the door past the both of them, and then right out the warehouse.

Garrus was up first, grabbing Lantar's shoulder roughly to haul him up. "Come on!"

Once they were out the door, Lantar heard the screams. "Garrus, the workers!" The place might be minimally staffed at this time of night, but Omega ran around the clock, so that meant there were still a few dozen workers in the complex. The explosion had taken out half of the building, and the fire was spreading fast. The workers were panicking, some running for extinguishers or the exit, others hunkering down in fear. There had to be more, some trapped in other warehouses. If the fire didn't kill them, no doubt the Grim Angels would. They weren't known for being particular about collateral damage.

They exchanged a look, and Lantar followed Garrus through the fire.

\--

They got the opportunity to shoot more than a few Grim Angels on the way out, which appeased Garrus.

It was ironic, Lantar thought. The Grim Angels against Archangel. No, that wasn't the right word. Coincidental, maybe. _Fitting,_ for sure.

They'd managed to get all the civilians out, and Garrus had slammed the security gates shut on the last few Grim Angels, trapping them in the still burning complex.

_Grim,_ Lantar thought, and laughed reedily, still a bit high off of adrenaline. Garrus kept a hand on his elbow as they ran from the complex, ignoring the laugh. They'd done it. Not in the way they'd intended, but the red sand had been destroyed, they'd taken out as many mercs as the Grim Angels could throw at them, saved innocents, _and_ were both alive and uninjured.

They did it. _He_ did it. He could do this, he could help Garrus, he could--

Garrus stopped suddenly, and Lantar let out an oof as he ran into his back. He grabbed at Garrus reflexively with one hand, the other scrabbling at his pistol as he looked past Garrus.

It was the salarian he'd seen darting out of the flames, the one in black armor. The one they hadn't accounted for.

Garrus had his assault rifle aimed already, of course. "Who are you?" he asked in a commanding voice that made Lantar involuntarily shiver.

The salarian held his hands up, showing that they were empty, then removed his helmet. His skin was a dark green tone, and even in the dim lighting Lantar could see faint purple markings on his horns. "A friend, hopefully. It doesn't seem as though the two of you were with the Grim Angels, considering how many of them you killed on the way out."

Garrus lowered his rifle, but kept it at the ready. "You either, judging by how many workers you got out of there too."

Wait what? When had Garrus spotted that? Lantar hadn't seen the salarian after--

It clicked in Lantar's head. _"You_ set the explosives." He stepped out from behind Garrus at the salarian's nod. "There were innocents in there! You nearly got them all killed!"

The salarian slowly lowered his hands, but still kept them away from his guns. "Easier to convince them to evacuate when the threat is obvious. I took precautions to make sure none of them were caught in the initial blast. If I'm correct, and I am, the only civilians who died were the ones the Grim Angels were paying off for the warehouse. So not exactly casualties."

Garrus finally put his gun away, giving the salarian an approving nod. "Makes sense. Certainly made a show of the whole thing."

"Of course." The salarian's expression was set in a grim line. "No point in trying to teach a lesson if the student isn't aware they're being taught one. And judging by the security footage I saw, you two seem to be of the same mind." He stepped towards Garrus, hand extended. "Irlan Sensat."

Garrus took his hand, and again, Lantar could see that stupid smug look on his stupid handsome face.

\--

Ripper had met many salarians before. None of them had been like this one.

The people of Omega overlooked vorcha. They viewed them as little more than pests, vermin even. Some, like Gavorn, made a living keeping their numbers down. Others simply hunted them for sport. Not that Ripper was particularly upset about it. Most other vorcha deserved it. Ripper was different. Less aggressive. More rational. Smarter. _Better._

It was because of salarians.

This salarian had saved Ripper, which was more than anyone else had ever done before. He had gotten Ripper out of the warehouse, same as all the others, not hesitating to save even a vorcha.

Ripper followed him. Saw him with the turians. _Good_ turians that had saved people too.

Ripper kept following them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Am I the only one who misses Garrus in light/medium armor? He looked like a candy cane in the Phoenix armor.
> 
> Thanks for reading my nonsense.


	6. Some Nights

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lantar and Garrus get domestic. And an unexpected ally.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Point/Counterpoint Soundtrack](https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLlqseyaCZJnOfHmyb81cizbhOmNHR3t-m)

This is it, boys, this is war  
What are we waiting for?  
Why don't we break the rules already?  
I was never one to believe the hype  
Save that for the black and white  
I try twice as hard and I'm half as liked  
But here they come again to jack my style

 _[Some Nights](https://youtu.be/QxTBtHsh408)_  
fun.

\--

Garrus had found a kindred spirit in Sensat, and Lantar kind of hated it.

He was now outnumbered in mission planning; not that he'd been able to make much of a stand when it was just Garrus, but now he had Sensat egging things on too. When Lantar got home from work, more often than not he'd find the two of them sitting at the coffee table, poring over schematics, shipping manifestos, surveillance footage, anything and everything that helped them keep eyes on Omega's gang activity.

It wasn't that Lantar didn't _like_ Sensat. He did, really. The salarian was smart, well-trained, and had a predilection for explosive solutions that under other circumstances, would have made Lantar nervous. But as it was, his skillset made it possible for them to do missions that didn't require enemy contact. Lantar liked those ones the best.

Sensat was also one of the most sarcastic pieces of shit Lantar had ever had the pleasure of meeting. It occasionally got under his skin, but the salarian was never aggressive enough for it to truly bother him.

No, Lantar liked Sensat well enough. But he still preferred the quiet nights when it was just him and Garrus, maybe cooking or watching a vid together. They were less frequent now that his apartment had become unofficial Archangel headquarters.

\--

_"Slavers."_

The word came on top of the sound of Lantar's apartment door sliding open. Reflexively, Lantar rolled off the couch, nearly taking out the coffee table.

Garrus was even faster -- Lantar barely registered hearing the dish that Garrus had been washing break before the other turian was at the door, a kitchen knife pressed against the intruder's throat.

Sensat rolled his eyes, impatiently waiting for Garrus to remove the knife from his throat. "Are you quite finished?"

With an annoyed rumble, Garrus stepped back into the kitchen to clean up the broken dish; Lantar echoed his subvocals, though much louder, as he sat up. "What the _fuck,_ Sensat? You couldn't have sent a message to warn us? Or, I don't know, _knocked?"_

"No time, this is too important. Besides, I assume you gave me the security codes for a reason."

"Yeah, in case of _emergencies."_ Lantar grumbled. He paused, suddenly worried. "Is this an emergency?"

"Close enough." Sensat pushed past Garrus and dropped a datapad on the coffee table. "A slaver ship is docking in two days time, bringing _product_ to sell to the gangs." Sensat's voice growled on the word 'product.' He sat on the couch, next to where Lantar was still seated on the floor.

After picking up the broken dish, Garrus stepped out of the kitchen and into the living room, drying his hands. "No existing affiliation?"

Sensat shook his head. "None." He took the datapad again, and pressed a few buttons to project its information onto Lantar's vid screen. Images of Omega's docks scrolled across it as Sensat slid his finger along the datapad. "The purchases won't take place until the next day."

"Giving us the opportunity to free the slaves the night before," Garrus added.

Sensat nodded. "We'll have a small time frame, but it's more than doable." He stood, flipping the image to an overhead map of one of the docking bays, then tapped a finger against the screen. "There's not many of them; it shouldn't be difficult to get them out undetected and somewhere safe. Prior to the ship's arrival, we trigger a small explosion here, just large enough to bring down the main entrance."

Of _course_ Sensat's plan involved explosives. They were the salarian's speciality after all, and Lantar couldn't help but wonder where he'd had the opportunity to develop the skill and affinity for them; Sensat was just as quiet about his past as his comrades were.

Lantar nodded along as Sensat laid out the plan.

\--

Sensat didn't leave until early in the morning, and Lantar was grateful that it was his day off. They'd have to head down to the docks tonight to get everything set up. Lantar didn't mind the late nights they had to pull with all this vigilante work; he functioned well enough on little sleep, and Garrus kept missions spread out enough that Lantar had the opportunity to recharge every few days. Sensat didn't seem to have a job, and it was obvious that Garrus was living off of some rather plentiful savings.

He had taken up permanent residence with Lantar, but Lantar had brushed him off when he offered to help with bills. Lantar could afford them, and he was still in debt to Garrus for the weapons and armor.

Garrus didn't see it that way, but Lantar knew the younger turian's savings would only be able to stretch so far. Where he'd get money from then, Lantar didn't know, and figured they'd cross that bridge when they came to it. Though Garrus did have an odd habit of picking up discarded equipment to sell to merchants who didn't ask questions. It was strange to think of him as a scavenger.

Though honestly, Lantar just tried not to feel a little giddy at the fact that Garrus had apparently decided to settle in for a long haul with him. He mostly succeeded. _Mostly._

Once Sensat was gone, Lantar yawned and stretched out on his stomach on the couch, head atop his folded arms. He watched as Garrus picked up coffee cups and food wrappers left from their all night planning session. Lantar would have left them for the time being, but in lieu of contributing financially, Garrus had tacitly decided to take over the majority of the domestic chores.

Except cooking. He still couldn't cook worth a damn.

Lantar was almost dozing by the time Garrus finished. Garrus leaned over the back of the couch to look down at him. "Go to bed."

"Don' wanna get up," Lantar grumbled into the crook of his elbow. "You can take the bed."

Garrus shook his head. "I need to pick up a few things for tonight, then I want to go over the maintenance map a few more times."

Lantar rolled onto his back to look up at Garrus. "You need sleep too. You and Sensat are going to be staking out the docks tomorrow, you'll need to be well-rested so you don't fall asleep on the rooftops."

"I'll take a nap in the afternoon."

Despite not having a day job, Garrus slept less than Lantar did. Part of it, he knew, was youth, but he also knew by now that Garrus just got antsy before a mission. If he didn't sleep now, he sure as hell wasn't going to this afternoon.

With a groan, Lantar sat up. "We both know that's a lie. So you'll sleep _now,_ and _I'll_ sleep now, and in a few hours we'll take care of the last minute things for tonight." He reached over and shoved Garrus away from the couch. "So take the bed. You've already made me sit up, so don't make me get up to drag you to the bedroom."

If he was going to drag Garrus to the bedroom, he wanted it to be for a different reason.

Garrus stepped away from the couch, hands raised in surrender. "Alright old man, I'll take the bedroom."

"Garrus," Lantar said before he could get too far. "Leave your visor and datapad out here."

Garrus hummed in annoyance at being figured out.

\--

"They're already in holding cells," Lantar heard Garrus murmur from his comm unit.

"Right, right, almost got the door," Lantar whispered in response, talons flying over the maintenance shaft's lock. He was late to the party, as per the plan. Garrus and Sensat had been here for hours already, Garrus up in a sniper perch, Sensat posing as a dock worker. The plan was simple enough; once Lantar made his way through the shaft to the docking bay, Sensat would blow the entrance, Lantar and Garrus would take out the slavers present, and then funnel the slaves out the way Lantar came in while Sensat covered their exit.

Lantar didn't have high hopes for things staying simple. Plans never survived contact with the enemy, after all.

"Lantar…" Garrus' voice hummed a tinge of concern.

His hands were fumbling at what was a standard lock, the sort of thing he'd cracked dozens of times before. Without Garrus beside him, steadying him, the old fear was rearing its head once again. "Sorry, just one more--" The light finally turned green. "Okay, got it." He crawled into the shaft, waving his omnitool back at the entrance to make it look as though it were locked. "On my way."

The shaft was small, but still large enough for Lantar to squeeze his way through comfortably enough. There had been shorter paths to the docking bay, but this one had been the largest. As far as they had been able to tell, the majority of the dozen-or-so slaves were human, and should have an easy enough time getting through it themselves.

He hunkered down once he reached the entrance to the dock itself, pulling out his pistol and pulling up his omni-tool. "In position."

Garrus' voice was cool and steady. "Mark one, blow the door. Mark two, cut the cameras."

Lantar nodded. "Got it."

"Affirmative," Sensat replied, professional as ever.

"On my mark…" Lantar steeled himself, then heard the _pwong_ of Garrus' sniper rifle. "Mark."

Lantar couldn't help but flinch at the explosion. He heard Garrus' rifle again through the screams.

"Mark."

He fumbled for only half a second this time, then cut the cameras with his omni-tool -- _after_ the initial violence. As usual, Garrus wanted to make sure whoever ended up reviewing the footage would _see._

"On my way down -- Lantar, now!"

Lantar bashed the hatch open with his shoulder, and used his biotics to throw the nearest slaver. He saw Garrus dropping down on the other side of the docking bay, and his hands steadied.

Garrus was here. Everything was going to be fine.

\--

The firefight was short.

The slavers had only hired a handful of second-rate mercenaries to guard their _cargo._ They had been overconfident; it was unsurprising, most criminals were when doing business on Omega.

What _was_ surprising was a female krogan breaking out of one of the cells with a roar, and running head first into one of the mercs. It took a bullet whizzing past his head to snap Lantar out of his shock.

Between the three of them, the firefight was _very_ short.

\--

Salkie hated delivering bad news, but unfortunately, it was just part of his job. Tarak got irritated at being informed if things were going as they should, brushing off the update. Even if profits were better than expected, the most Salkie ever got was that they were finally meeting _Tarak's_ expectations. So Salkie just didn't bother him with it. Which also meant he could get away with skimming a bit off the top on good hauls. It was a little dangerous, but he figured that if Tarak didn't keep up on his own shit, he deserved it.

Besides, it wasn't as though Tarak had anyone else who was willing to do Salkie's job. Or _could,_ for that matter.

So he got stuck with delivering bad news.

"Dhathar Mah'shego is dead."

Tarak and Jentha were discussing something Salkie didn't care about, and they looked up in annoyance when he interrupted. Salkie knew from experience that it was better to interrupt than wait; they'd just ignore him as long as they could.

"Who?" Tarak grumbled.

Salkie fought the urge to roll his eyes. "Slaver, came in day before yesterday to sell to us and the other gangs. We were supposed to be in first yesterday, but the docking bay was torn up and the slaves stolen."

"That's what he gets for trying to play all three sides," Jentha chimed in. "Was it Eclipse or Blood Pack?"

"Neither." Salkie handed Jentha the datapad with the security footage. "Independent group from the gangs, judging by what we've managed to piece together from external footage."

With only a cursory glance at the datapad, Tarak brushed him off. "No skin off our backs, slaves aren't priority right now. Let Eclipse deal with it." Salkie took the dismissal for what it was, and left.

He was looking forward a little bit to when Tarak's indifference got him killed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Posting this guy a few hours early because it's either that or a day late. Happy early Friday!
> 
> Thanks for reading my nonsense!


	7. Spinning in Daffodils

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Archangel adds an unlikely member. And might have found another.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Point/Counterpoint Playlist](https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLlqseyaCZJnOfHmyb81cizbhOmNHR3t-m)

Cold  
Alone and alive  
You're afraid, but that's not what I asked  
Wanna go for a ride?

Sharpen your teeth my darlings  
Sharpen your minds  
Take a finger, if the hand feeds you shit  
Take one scalp at a time

[_Spinning In Daffodils_](https://youtu.be/ERNm9bpLVZ8)  
Them Crooked Vultures

\--

Lantar had never met a female krogan before. Really, his only experiences with krogan were either as bouncers or mercs -- both things he tried to avoid. As far as he knew, not many females left Tuchanka, sterile or not. To be honest, Lantar had never even really _thought_ about female krogan.

Raik Erash was… well, not far from what he would have expected, he supposed.

\--

"I want in."

Lantar startled at the rumbling voice, swinging around with his gun raised. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw that Garrus and Sensat had done the same.

It was the female krogan from the docks. Apparently, instead of going along with the other freed slaves, she had tailed one of them. The three of them had each taken a different route to the rendezvous point, and Lantar wondered how she'd managed to follow. Garrus had gone along the rooftops, Sensat knew how to disappear into the shadows, and Lantar-- oh.

How the hell did he not notice a _krogan_ following him?

Lantar didn't voice his realization, and lowered his gun when the others did. "Why didn't you go with the others?" Garrus asked.

"I just _said,_ idiot." Her voice was annoyed, rather than angry. "I. Want. In. Did that make it through your helmet _and_ your skull this time?"

"In on _what?"_ The annoyance in Garrus' voice matched hers, but Lantar could hear curiosity and interest humming under it.

The krogan gestured vaguely at the three of them. "Whatever… _this_ is. You're freeing slaves, and you three skinny bastards need krogan muscle, so I'll say it again. _I. Want. In."_

Sensat stepped in between them. "All well and good, but might I recommend we continue this conversation in a more _secure_ location?"

Garrus nodded and shouldered his gun. "Right. Rendezvous point beta." They had set up multiple rendezvous points, in case of being followed. … By someone _other_ than their current tagalong, anyway. Without another word, Garrus scrambled back up onto the rooftops, and Sensat -- yep, he was already gone.

The krogan gave a throaty chuckle. "Well, at least I know _you_ won't be able to lose me."

Lantar hummed in embarrassment. "Wouldn't even try. Not gonna turn away someone who wants to help."

_Garrus is going to be insufferable about this,_ Lantar thought to himself. Garrus was so convinced that the more they went up against the scum of Omega, the more they'd find like-minded allies. And here he was, being proven right again.

"So are we going or what?"

Lantar took a moment to take a closer look at the krogan. He didn't know much about the species, but she wasn't as craggy as most of the ones he'd seen, so he guessed she was young. Or maybe their females were just smoother? Hell, he didn't know. Her skin was a soft yellow, contrasting with the grey-blue of both her head plate and eyes. She was definitely shorter than the other krogan he'd seen.

"Yeah. We shouldn't run into trouble, but…" Lantar hesitated before handing her his pistol. "Here. Just in case." With an appreciative nod, she took it, and followed him down the alley. "...My name's Lantar, by the way. I'll let the others introduce themselves."

"Erash," she returned, then drew herself up proudly. "Of Clan Raik."

Lantar wondered if that was supposed to mean something to him, but nodded anyway.

\--

Rendezvous point beta was a storage unit that, like most places on Omega, was in desperate need of a good cleaning. There still seemed to be some leftover items from the previous renter -- a few stacks of boxes, a lump of blankets in the corner, a set of salarian armor, some scrap parts that looked like they could be made into… explosives…

It occurred to Lantar that he hadn't known where Sensat lived before now. He felt a little guilty.

Garrus and Sensat were already there, helmets off, waiting for them. "Took you long enough," Sensat muttered from where he was seated on a crate. Lantar ignored him.

Garrus was standing, arms folded, looking as imposing as ever. "No tails?"

Lantar shook his head. After being oblivious enough to not notice a fucking _krogan_ following him, he'd been extra careful on their way to the unit. He waved his omnitool over the door to lock it.

Erash leaned back against the wall, looking unconcerned as she folded her arms across her chest, mimicking Garrus' body language. "Is this some sort of initiation rite? Bringing me to some shithole to interrogate me?"

Sensat sat up, indignant, but Garrus didn't rise to the bait. "So. You want in."

Erash rolled her eyes. "How many times do I have to repeat myself? _Yes,_ I want in."

Garrus hummed faintly. "Why? It's not exactly paying work."

"Don't care about the money. I want payback."

"On the slavers?"

Sensat rolled his eyes, obviously more than a little bit bored with the back and forth between Erash and Garrus. "Brilliant deduction."

Erash continued, ignoring Sensat. "I was security detail on a cargo ship. Batarians got the drop on us. Dumbasses had never seen a female krogan before, assumed I was fertile, and figured they could sell me off for a bunch of credits. So if you guys are going after slavers, I want a piece of that."

"Not just slavers," Sensat piped in. "Drug-dealers, murderers, and the gangs too." Lantar noticed he didn't specify that they weren't going after the big names yet. He really wished someone else would clarify; he was tired of singing the same song, of trying to bring the other two back down to reality.

"Whatever." Erash waved Sensat's comment off and bared her teeth. "Point me in a direction; I'll carve a path through however many mercs we need to get us to whoever's in charge so you can put a bullet in the bastard's head." Lantar could feel his stomach tighten; they were getting another one. After that, there was no way Garrus wouldn't bring her into the fold, and there would be one more ambitious maniac drowning out the voice of reason. But as they brought in more maniacs… well, maybe with enough of them, they might actually have a chance of making a difference.

Lantar wasn't holding his breath. But he'd committed to this, committed to Garrus' ambitions. Against his better judgment.

Garrus watched her appraisingly for a long moment, then finally nodded. "All right. You're in. What's your name?"

The bared teeth turned into a grin. "Raik Erash."

"Well, Erash. Welcome to Archangel."

\--

Lantar had been right; Garrus was absolutely insufferable about the addition of Erash to their group, bordering on smug. Their number was still small, only four, but Garrus' prediction had been accurate -- people wanted to join them. There were other good people on Omega, people tired of living under the terror of the gangs, of being constantly stomped on just for being trapped on this shithole of an asteroid.

If he was being honest -- and he'd never tell Garrus this -- Lantar had expected (or at least hoped) that Garrus' ambition would peter out after a few months. That he'd come to his senses, keep things small, be content with helping people on a smaller scale. Stopping burglars, taking out small time drug dealers, rescuing pets from tall buildings, that sort of thing.

He should have known Garrus well enough at this point to doubt that the turian _had_ any senses to come to. But he hadn't expected the fans to be flamed by the likes of Sensat and Erash. Lantar wondered who else was out there, just waiting to be presented with the opportunity to fight back.

Lantar, Sensat, and Erash were currently camped out at the Wire, a divey (i.e., shitty) low-key bar not too far from Lantar's apartment. Garrus had already left, off to meet with a contact who could provide them with some supplies. They sure as hell made for a strange threesome, mostly due to the addition of Erash. She obviously was a novelty, at least to those who could recognize a female krogan -- which luckily, were few in number. Mostly the strange looks were due to her hanging out with species that the krogan notoriously did _not_ get along with.

It was something they'd have to be careful of if they managed to gain in notoriety. They were a memorable group.

Though Lantar had to admit, the downtime was refreshing. Life lately had been almost nothing but work and missions, with sleep sometimes managing to make its way in between. And as much as he enjoyed the time spent with just Garrus, it was nice to get to know Sensat and Erash as well.

Lantar was making _friends._ It still felt strange.

"...And then the idiot tried to _punch_ me. Flat out, right in the damn chest." Erash laughed and knocked back the rest of her ryncol. Most of the evening had been spent listening to her regale them with stories of fighting off opportunistic pirates. They were probably greatly exaggerated, but that didn't mean that they weren't entertaining.

Sensat scoffed. "No one's that stupid."

"I've met stupider," Erash countered.

Lantar hummed in amusement. "Like pirates who think they can sell a krogan as a slave?"

_That_ got a roar of laughter from Erash, and even a mild chuckle from Sensat. _"Exactly_ like that."

Erash was an open book, certainly a change from the likes of Garrus and Sensat, who were almost obsessive about keeping their pasts hidden. Not that Lantar was particularly up front about his own, but he just couldn't pull off _mysterious_ the same way they could. It was refreshing, and meant that it was easy to just let Erash carry the conversation.

Until she decided to steer it into more personal waters. "So what about the two of you? How the hell did you two end up on Omega and get mixed up in--"

Lantar had never been more grateful for a rowdy bar patron.

The sound of a glass smashing, followed by a loud voice yelling in pain, silenced the bar. "What the _fuck!"_ All three of them turned to look -- a human female had apparently smashed a glass across the face of a human male. His face was bloody, but he was on his feet, grabbing her arm. "I'll kill you, you fucking _bitch!"_

"Don't touch me!" she screamed back, still holding the remains of the glass in her bloody, shaking hand.

Erash and Sensat were already on their feet, but the bartender got there first. He was a turian, maybe a little shorter than Lantar, with dark grey faceplates and red colony markings. Lines below his eyes swooped down along his cheek plates, matched by a pair that lined the lower edge of his mandibles. Aephus colony, Lantar was pretty sure.

Calm and steady, the bartender grabbed his hand and removed it from the woman's arm, forcing it back at an angle that Lantar was pretty sure human wrists weren't meant to bend at. The human cried out in pain again. _"Fuck!"_ And then he used his other hand to pull out a gun.

Again, there was no time to react. Using strangely familiar motions, the turian managed to not just break the human's wrist, not just disarm him, but _also_ grab the gun to pistol whip him across the face. With a scream, the human dropped to the ground, and the turian grabbed him by the back of his shirt, dragged him to the door, and quite literally _threw_ him out of the bar. He then turned to the woman and spoke to her in a voice too low to carry. Probably making sure she was okay before leading her into the back, likely to help patch up her hand.

Show over, the rest of the bar went back to their drinks, and Erash and Sensat both sat back down. "Pretty sure they don't teach that in bartending school," Erash commented, sounding impressed. Lantar had to nod in agreement, still playing the turian's motions over in his head, trying to figure out where he recognized them from.

Bar fights were common on Omega, and only the big clubs could afford bouncers. More often than not, bartenders just ignored problems until weapons were pulled. And then they were more likely to duck down rather than get involved, letting the customers settle things among themselves. They sure as hell didn't get paid enough to risk their life for strangers.

Sensat turned to Lantar with a smirk, and Lantar instantly knew what he was going to say. "Garrus is going to want to meet him."

Lantar held back a groan.

\--

All four of Vortash's eyes focused intensely on the screen in front of him as he swiped through security footage. It was the same two turians, every time. They'd first piqued his interest after breaking through his security at the warehouse. It was hardly his best work, slapped together after the Grim Angels had paid for extra security on their storage unit. The one in the blue armor was a fair engineer. But Vortash was better.

Security footage had been meticulously wiped except for specific fragments that they'd obviously left to make a statement. But Vortash knew how to dig, how to recover what they'd erased. And it was enough for him to track their movements over Omega.

They'd been joined by a salarian after the warehouse. And then a damn _krogan_ they'd freed slaves at the docks. And no matter how hard he looked, how many recordings he scoured, Vortash couldn't find any evidence of them taking money from anyone. They weren't just another gang of mercenaries.

Vortash went back through the footage again, trying to figure out their angle.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I post early last week, and make up for it by posting this one late. My bad.
> 
> So just as a heads up, I'm running low on buffer. Between still recovering from a broken leg, returning to work, (retail. Hooray holidays.) and Thanksgiving, I've been a bit low on time to write. There's a chance chapters might be coming a bit slower soon.
> 
> Also I had to restructure like a third of my outline 8|
> 
> Thanks for reading my nonsense.


	8. Momentum

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lantar finally starts to learn a little bit about Garrus.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Point/Counterpoint Playlist](https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLlqseyaCZJnOfHmyb81cizbhOmNHR3t-m)

All we need is a little bit of momentum  
Break down these walls that we've built around ourselves  
All we need is a little bit of inertia  
Break down and tell  
Break down and tell

[ _Momentum_](https://youtu.be/RerHKSlFCNc)  
The Hush Sound

\--

Sensat was right. Garrus was very interested in meeting the bartender. Luckily, he wasn't intending to rush headfirst into it. This wasn't like Sensat, who they'd met while carrying out more or less the exact same mission. Or Erash, freed from slavery and immediately turning around to take the fight back to those who'd wronged her. The bartender was an unknown. Beyond his apparent ability, lack of fear, and willingness to help a stranger, anyway. 

Even so, there was no way to know if he had any affiliation with any of the gangs, or if in his off hours he kicked children, so for once, Lantar had managed to convince Garrus to take it slow. As slow as Garrus ever took things.

They started going to the Wire more frequently, trying to catch the bartender, get more familiar with him. It wasn't easy. While he worked regular hours, the other turian wasn't much of one for small talk. They watched him throw out a few more rabble-rousers, though the part that really stuck out was the fact that he _also_ made sure people were alright afterwards. But so far, between the four of them and their varying levels of poor social skills, they hadn't managed to learn much about him beyond the fact that he looked out for his patrons, and his name. Antares Melenis. Beyond that, he was a mystery.

A mystery, tinged with a familiarity that was making Lantar _crazy._

It was something about the way he moved, Lantar was sure. He probably spent more time than necessary watching Melenis, but it would not stop pawing at the back of his mind until he figured it out.

\--

_"Hastatim."_

Garrus paused in the middle of his drink to look at Lantar in confusion. "...Pardon?"

It was just the two of them at the Wire, which had become their regular drinking establishment, even when they weren't trying to scope out the bartender. Not that Lantar wasn't unabashedly staring at him at the moment, having just connected the dots that had been gnawing at his brain.

After a moment, his gaze snapped back to Garrus, and he leaned in low over the table. "Melenis. He's ex-hastatim."

Garrus' look of confusion turned incredulous. "Hastatim? What makes you think that?"

"That disarm -- when we first spotted him, we told you about him throwing out that guy? He's definitely military trained, but the disarm he used, it was a hastatim technique. I mean, he might not be, but I'd put money on it."

Much more subtle than Lantar, Garrus took a look over at Melenis. "Maybe. Bet it's an interesting story as to how someone might go from hastatim to bartender." There was a long moment before Garrus' attention shifted back to Lantar. "How do you know how to recognize hastatim techniques?"

 _Fuck._ Lantar took a long drink, stalling. Garrus was probably drawing conclusions -- the wrong ones. "I wasn't a member," he clarified. "But, uh. My Cabal worked with them sometimes."

It was the first time he actually admitted having been a part of a Cabal. And a Cabal wasn't like other branches; you didn't just _graduate_ and move on to something else like you did boot camp. It was a position for life. It was easier for colony kids to dodge the military, but not for a biotic.

Garrus was fidgeting with his glass. If Lantar had to guess, he was debating with whether to ask further or not. It would open him up to questions about his own background, which, honestly, Lantar was sort of willing to trade for his own past.

_Just ask._

For once, his request was granted.

"How did you get out?"

Garrus wasn't looking at him, which made Lantar uncomfortable. "I… left," he replied, humming shame. "Just never came back after going on leave."

Garrus _still_ wasn't looking at him; Lantar let out a pained laugh and looked down. "I'm a coward, if you haven't picked up on that yet. I always have been. I went AWOL because I was _scared._ And here, now, we both know it's just a matter of time before I--"

"You're not a coward." Lantar looked up, and Garrus was finally looking back at him, his expression serious as ever.

Lantar swallowed hard. _Only around you._

Garrus turned towards the bar. "Melenis is leaving. Come on."

Grateful for the interruption, Lantar stood to follow Garrus. Garrus' past could come later. At this moment, Lantar didn't even know what he _could_ say. No one, not even his mother, had ever before believed in him the way Garrus did.

They had previously scoped out the bar's backdoor, and managed to get there before Melenis did. It was probably a bit more than creepy, but the conversation they were planning for required privacy. And a fair amount of trust in what had estimated Melenis' moral fiber to be. They didn't want to corner him while fully armed and armored.

So they did their best to look casual as they waited in the alley. Lantar suspected they weren't succeeding.

When the door opened and Melenis stepped out, there was no hesitation as he turned to them, as if he knew exactly where they'd be waiting. "All right. Enough games. You've been stalking me at the bar for weeks. What do you want?"

Lantar was caught off guard -- he shouldn't have been, judging by where he thought Melenis had been trained -- but Garrus wasn't, replying immediately. "You run a clean bar." Melenis' mandibles twitched in mild surprise and disbelief. "I mean in regard to your clientele."

Melenis' expression remained suspicious. "I see no need to service those who cause disruptions."

"Most bartenders don't double as bouncers. And even then, they don't take care of the victimized party."

"Get to the point." Melenis looked wary now, but his hands were steady as a rock. Even if he'd never been a member of the hastatim, he'd obviously been trained _somewhere._

Garrus raised his hands. "We're not trying to shake you down. We just think you do good work, and were wondering if you'd like to do some more. On a larger scale."

There was a long moment of silence before Melenis spoke again. "You're members of Archangel."

Lantar heard the pleased note in Garrus' subvocals. "You've heard of us."

"I've heard rumors."

"What have you heard?"

Melenis glanced down the alleyway; he had at least relaxed enough to take his eyes off of them. "That you're causing trouble for the gangs. That you're trying to upset the status quo. That you're all going to get your idiot selves killed in horrific ways."

Garrus took a step towards Melenis, who didn't back away. "Well, two of those things are true." _All three,_ Lantar mentally corrected him. "Are you interested?"

"I'm just a bartender," Melenis hummed lowly.

"Bullshit, _just,"_ Lantar said before thinking. Melenis' steely grey gaze was on him now. _"Just_ a bartender wouldn't know how to disarm someone and break their wrist in the same breath. Try and tell me you don't know seventeen different ways to kill someone with your bare hands."

He could feel Garrus' eyes on him, a little surprised. Lantar always let Garrus do the talking. But this was different, this was _important._ Lantar had known hastatim guys, seen the guilt they carried around after having to subdue the population of a city. After having to execute those who resisted. He'd seen it _eat_ at them, and couldn't imagine why else someone like Melenis might end up on Omega.

Of course, he also might be wrong, and if that was the case, then it didn't really matter. But he wasn't wrong. And if he was right, which he was, maybe Melenis was looking for a chance to atone. A chance they could give him.

Melenis' gaze was appraising, weighing Lantar as he folded his arms across his chest, quiet for another long stretch. "... I don't really keep count."

Garrus chuckled at Melenis' response. "Even if it's just a few, we could use someone with your skills to help us do some good. Are you interested?"

Lantar held his breath. This was dangerous. If Melenis turned them down, he'd still know their faces, be able to identify them -- identify Sensat and Erash too, he'd seen all four of them together. How long before the gangs came looking? Archangel's name was getting around, it was just a matter of time before they pissed off the wrong people, and Melenis would have the opportunity to hand them over on a--

"All right. I'll do it."

Sometimes it paid off to have faith that people could be good.

\--

Garrus was in high spirits when they arrived home. He pulled out a bottle of Palaven brandy that Lantar couldn't even begin to imagine where he'd gotten from. They drank, they sat on the couch and watched a vid, just the two of them. It wasn't exactly a celebration, but Lantar preferred this so much more. However, Garrus apparently got contemplative when drunk.

The vid's credits were rolling, and Lantar's head was buzzing pleasantly. He was curled up on the couch, head on the armrest, about ready to doze off when Garrus spoke. "You're not a coward, Lantar. You wouldn't be here, doing this with me if you were a coward."

Lantar lifted his head to look at Garrus. The other turian was sitting on the ground in front of the couch, resting his arms on his knees as he looked at the empty glass in his hands. The words curled warmly in Lantar's stomach, even as his brain denied them. He sat up and shifted closer to Garrus. "Garrus… Why are you on Omega?"

It was the first time he'd asked directly. The first time they'd both been drunk enough to have this conversation. And for once, Lantar wasn't going to let it go. He wanted to _know_ Garrus, in every sense of the word. Wanted to know why he was here, where he came from, what made him the person he was now.

And for once, Garrus was going to let him. "I was C-Sec before coming here." Lantar had managed to piece that together early on, but he didn't say anything, just let Garrus speak. "Youngest turian to ever make detective. Would have been youngest ever, but a few salarians had me beat out. It might have been nepotism, I'm not sure. It wouldn't have been the first time my father decided to meddle in my life." Garrus sighed and let his head fall back against the couch, next to Lantar's knee. "He blocked me from Spectre candidacy -- I was marked for potential recruitment during bootcamp."

Lantar wasn't surprised. Considering Garrus' skills, his determination, and his honestly questionable sense of ethics, Lantar imagined that if it hadn't been for his father, Garrus would have easily become a Spectre.

Garrus continued. "I chose C-Sec, but it… frustrated me. The higher I climbed, the more I felt hampered by red tape and regulations. I can't even tell you how many criminals I had to watch walk free because of loopholes in the system. Disallowed evidence, cutting deals, crooked lawyers. Justice wasn't being served, it was being _obstructed."_ He gave a faint chuckle. "I was written up for breaching code of conduct more than a few times."

Lantar hummed mock surprise. "Really? You?" He thought of a mugger that Garrus had beaten within an inch of his life just last week.

"Oh, shut up." Garrus hummed back mild amusement and elbowed Lantar in the leg. Lantar laughed lightly, and moved to lay on the couch behind Garrus.

He only barely resisted the urge to reach out and stroke his fringe.

Garrus' eyes closed, and he settled back into the couch again. "Pretty sure Internal Affairs wanted me fired, but they couldn't argue with even my legitimate arrest record. Either that, or strings were pulled so I wouldn't go rogue."

Lantar hummed false surprise again, but Garrus ignored it this time. "Though they did punish me with plenty of desk shifts. Paperwork was about all I was allowed to investigate for a while there. Though I did get assigned as lead investigator into the accusations against Saren Arterius."

"Hold on. Hold the fuck on." Lantar propped himself up on an elbow and looked down at Garrus. News of a rogue Spectre was big enough that people heard about it even out in the Terminus Systems. "Saren Arterius? The _Spectre_ Saren Arterius? You headed up the investigation into _Saren fucking Arterius?"_ The shock and surprise was real this time.

Garrus' laughed fully this time, but it was tinged with bitterness. He tilted his head back to look up at Lantar. "The _failed_ investigation, but yes. Everything he'd ever touched was so classified, no warrant could get me access to anything. It was pointless, a formality, which was probably why I was put on it." He scoffed. "So when the opportunity presented itself, I put in a leave of absence and joined up with Commander Shepard."

 _...No fucking way._ "You were on the Normandy. You're Garrus fucking _Vakarian."_ Lantar had known there was a turian on Shepard's crew, but had never known their first name.

Garrus gave him a small mock salute. "Nice to meet you."

Everything made _so much fucking sense now._ Lantar's subvocals were now humming straight up _awe._ "You were there for the geth attack on the Citadel."

"It wasn't a damned _geth_ attack," Garrus positively snarled. He sat up straight, and turned around to glare at Lantar, who drew back a bit. "Whatever you heard is _wrong._ Yes, there were geth, and yes, Saren was leading them, but--" Garrus' jaw clenched, his mandibles pulled in tight. "Sorry, it's just…" He sighed, deflating. "It's a long story, but let's just say that there was something a lot _worse_ than Saren or the geth leading that attack."

Lantar had a hard time imagining anything worse than geth led by a rogue Spectre, but he kept his mouth shut about that, not wanting to agitate Garrus further by poking at an obviously sore spot. "I'm sorry, it's just… Well, that's what they said on the news."

Garrus slumped and rested his head against the couch again, this time sideways, facing Lantar but not looking at him. "That's actually a lot of why I left. The Council refused to acknowledge what was right in front of their faces. And I was back at C-Sec, right where I'd left off. Nothing had changed. I reapplied to be a Spectre, but it wasn't enough. I couldn't work for the Council while they ignored everything Shepard told them. Especially not after…"

He didn't need to finish the sentence. Like news of Saren, word of Shepard's death was known on Omega to anyone who stopped to listen. Lantar gently touched Garrus' shoulder. He couldn't begin to fathom how Garrus felt, how _frustrated_ he must have been by all of it. The sort of _hurt_ he was still carrying from Shepard's death. So he didn't say anything, and just hoped that Garrus understood what the touch meant. That he was there for Garrus. That his heart hurt for him. How much it meant that Garrus trusted him with this.

\--

They finished the bottle of brandy that night, and talked quietly about nothing until morning.

Lantar had dozed off in the middle of Garrus telling a story about a rather embarrassing cultural misunderstanding with Tali. She'd tried to playfully poke him in the stomach once, and had been very confused when he'd pulled away and tried to explain that he wasn't interested in her that way. Both of them had been exceptionally flustered by the end of the conversation and spent the next few days avoiding each other before it blew over.

Garrus rested his head against the couch again, watching Lantar as he slept. It didn't matter to him that Lantar had left his Cabal, though the elder turian obviously carried more than a little shame about the fact that he'd gone AWOL. Garrus had left C-Sec under obviously much different circumstances, but he'd still abandoned his post. It didn't even matter why Lantar had left; it wasn't as though he'd had any choice in being a biotic, in being trapped in a Cabal until he was too old to be fit to serve.

None of that mattered to Garrus, because he knew who Lantar was. He was kind. He cared. He had opened his home to Garrus, before he even knew him. He had joined Garrus in his idealistic crusade against the ills of Omega. Lantar might think himself a coward, but Garrus knew better.

He quietly stood, and carefully draped a blanket over the sleeping turian. He then gently touched his shoulder before retreating to the bedroom.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _lantar's thirst is so real u guiz_
> 
> Thanks for reading my nonsense.


	9. New Genius (Brother)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Archangel plans its biggest mission yet. With some help.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Point/Counterpoint Soundtrack](https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLlqseyaCZJnOfHmyb81cizbhOmNHR3t-m)

In a pressure today  
I blew a bad man away today  
Had a gun, had to be done  
I blew a man away 

_[New Genius (Brother)](https://youtu.be/uJOq48wH1pc)_  
Gorillaz

\--

Melenis joining the crew was a double-edged sword. It meant that they were growing, that the people of Omega were ready to fight back, that they were _accomplishing_ something.

But it also meant that their name was getting out there. That they were more and more on the gangs' radar. That they were going to attempt to accomplish _more._

It meant that the anxiety perpetually living in Lantar's gut was just going to keep growing.

But then he'd feel Garrus' hand on his shoulder, and it meant that everything was going to be okay.

\--

Melenis apparently held a fair amount of sway at his workplace, (and a fair amount of trust in his co-workers,) so the backroom of the Wire had more or less now become Archangel's standard meeting place. While Lantar was a bit nervous about being slightly more in the open when they met and planned, it did mean that he no longer had the others _(Sensat)_ bursting into his home.

Not to mention he didn't have to squeeze five people into his very small apartment.

They arrived separate from each other, not wanting to draw attention as a group now that there were more of them. Lantar sat with Erash and Sensat at the small table they'd pulled into the room, while Melenis stood near the door. Garrus was the last to arrive, wasting no time as he set a datapad in the center of the table, hitting a button to project a map of the Kima district. He pointed at a large building right in the center. "Here. The Blue Suns process red sand here."

No. No, no, no. Lantar looked around the room at the others, hoping _someone_ was feeling the same disbelief he was.

He was met with three stony, determined expressions. Lantar's throat closed.

Garrus had paused, then continued when no one said anything. "We're going to hit it quick and hard. The loose plan is that once we're in, Sensat and I are going to sabotage the equipment. I said sabotage, Sensat, _not_ blow up."

Sensat straightened up, scowling a bit. "I didn't say a damned thing."

Erash laughed. "Didn't mean you weren't thinking it loud enough for all of us to hear." She punched him in the shoulder -- lightly, but still enough for the salarian to nearly fall out of his seat. That'd be sore later.

Garrus' mandibles twitched in amusement, but then he focused again. "The workers are most likely slaves, and even if they're not, I doubt they'll have enough loyalty to the operation to be willing to die for it. Desperates, the sort only one step away from slavery. So we are going to keep them safe, calm and _quiet._ Make it very clear that they won't get hurt as long as they don't cause trouble. Lantar, Erash." Lantar startled at his name, and hoped he was masking at least the majority of his terror as he met Garrus' eyes.

If he wasn't, Garrus didn't acknowledge it. "The two of you are going to be on crowd control. Melenis will be taking care of the sand itself, making sure no product makes it out of there. He'll be your support if any of the workers attempt to cause trouble. Any questions so far?"

_We're all going to get killed,_ Lantar wanted to scream, but some detached part of his brain noted that it was a statement rather than a question, and in his shocked state, that fact was somehow enough to stop him from blurting the words out.

Sensat folded his arms on the table and leaned forward. "That's it? We just pop in, hope the workers are cooperative, destroy the equipment, and waltz out?"

"Simple's better," Erash responded. "We make the plan more complicated, more things are just gonna go wrong. Security's gonna be tight on this place -- getting in is what's gonna be the real trick. After that, we do it as fast as possible and make sure we've got a clear exit. Then it's just the usual split and scatter." 

Sensat didn't look entirely convinced, and Lantar prayed that the salarian would be on his side for once, would agree that all of this was absolutely _insane._ Lantar's mouth was dry, and he still couldn't bring himself to speak. His hopes were dashed when Sensat looked up at Garrus. "Do we have any more intel on the facility itself?"

Garrus hummed lowly, and looked at Melenis, who was still hanging back by the door. "Melenis?"

In the brief time that Lantar had known the other turian, Melenis had never once looked anything other than calm and collected, borderline stoic even. His words and tone were steady, and his subharmonics soft enough to rarely betray any sort of real emotion. But in this moment, he looked… uncomfortable? At the very least discontent. "I have a contact. Former Blue Suns -- she worked security on this facility awhile back."

Erash, Sensat, and Lantar all looked back at Garrus, who didn't look surprised at this bit of information. Melenis had probably spoken with Garrus about his contact before; Lantar wondered if that was what made Garrus decide to put together this _suicide_ mission.

At Garrus' lack of reaction, they turned back to Melenis. "You trust her?" Erash asked.

"Implicitly." There was no hesitation in his response, not a hint of doubt. Melenis wasn't easy to read, but it was clear that whoever this contact was, Melenis _trusted_ her, maybe even more than he trusted the rest of Archangel. Whoever she was, she was the one this whole plan was going to hinge on.

Lantar's hands curled tightly around the edges of his chair seat, and it felt like they were the only thing stopping him from running out the door.

\--

Lantar didn't understand why he was here. Melenis had set up the meeting between his contact -- Weaver, he called her -- and Garrus. Melenis would be there, of course, but for some reason, Garrus insisted on Lantar attending as well.

"Won't she feel cornered?" he asked. The two of them were once again in the backroom of the Wire, waiting on Melenis and Weaver.

Garrus shook his head. "Melenis is smarter than that. He would have told her we're both here and what we're asking of her."

Lantar was glad that Garrus had such faith in their newest member, but Lantar wasn't so sure. Any _sane_ being would hightail it in the other direction if they heard what Archangel had in mind.

Oh spirits, he wasn't just surrounded by maniacs, he _was_ one.

Both Garrus and Lantar stood when Melenis opened the door, letting a dark-skinned human woman enter the room before him. Her black hair was short, and her expression suspicious. Lantar continued to wonder just how much Melenis had actually filled her in. Garrus politely gestured for her to take a seat. "You must be Weaver."

She didn't sit. Rather, she looked a moment away from bolting. Lantar could relate. "That's me." She glanced back at Melenis, who was also standing, still by the door. Come to think of it, Lantar had never seen him sit before. A brief image of Melenis sleeping standing up crossed his mind, and he barely held back an anxious giggle.

Garrus waited a moment before taking a seat, and Lantar followed suit. "Melenis said you could possibly help us."

Weaver glanced back at Melenis, who was as unreadable as ever. "Yeah. He filled me in. You're crazy but…" Her tone turned nervous. "I can tell you what I know." She finally sat and pulled up a hologram of the interior of the building. "The best entrance is going to be the vents. Cliché, I know, but that's the Blue Suns for you. A turian named Brunian runs the place -- used to, anyway, but word has it he still does. He always missed the obvious. That'll get you onto the catwalks; line of sight is terrible from the floor, but it's a great vantage point from above. There were usually no more than two guards up there…"

Lantar's mind buzzed as Weaver continued. This was it. Their big move, their first strike against Omega's heavy hitters. There was no going back after this. You didn't fuck with the Blue Suns' drug operations. You didn't fuck with the Blue Suns _at all,_ but here they were. It was make or break time.

He knew he should be paying more attention to Weaver's information, but Garrus would give them all a briefing on it later, so for now, he watched Garrus as the other listened to Weaver intently, a hand at his chin, talons lightly tapping against his faceplates. He could practically see the details of Garrus' rough plan coming together in his head.

Lantar's attention snapped back to Weaver when Garrus glanced at him. He was lucky that Garrus seemed to be oblivious as to just how much Lantar _watched_ him; he really had to figure out how to not be so obvious. The other part of him wished that Garrus would finally pick up on it. It would at least be _out there,_ even if it ended poorly. Then again, it _could_ end poorly, and Lantar was terrified of that idea.

He really was a coward.

Weaver leaned back in her seat, having finished giving out her information and advice. She seemed to have relaxed a little bit, even if it wasn't much. "That's all I've got -- but keep in mind, all the info is about a year old, so I can't promise it hasn't changed. Anything else?"

Garrus nodded. "It's at least something to go off of." He gestured to the catwalks Weaver had pointed out. "We'll have you take point on the intrusion; our demolitionist and myself will be with you. If we can swing it, I want the others--"

"Whoa. Back up there. I said I'd give you information. I am _not_ going with you on this suicide mission. That's all you."

_Smart woman,_ Lantar thought, but Garrus' head raised sharply, his subharmonics betraying his incredulity. "Melenis said--"

Weaver sat up, her eyes narrowing. "Melenis said _what?"_ She turned back in her seat to glare at Melenis. "What the hell did you tell them?"

Melenis touched his brow ridge, humming a bit of frustration. "I just--"

_"No._ Whatever else you told them I'm doing, I'm not." She stood and moved towards the door. "I am not a part of this, I am not going to get killed for your pointless little crusade."

Melenis stepped in front of her. "Naomi." His voice was softer than Lantar had ever heard it. "You'll never be able to stop running from them." He touched her elbow, but she didn't step back from him. "This is our opportunity to turn around and _fight."_

There was a gentleness, an intimacy in his voice that made Lantar slightly uncomfortable. It was obvious their relationship went a bit deeper than Weaver just being a contact. How far, Lantar wasn't sure, but it was obviously on a much more personal level than had originally been implied.

Weaver's jaw clenched as she continued to glare up at Melenis. "Can you guys give us the room for a second?" It was clear that she wasn't actually asking.

Lantar stood quickly, eager to escape the tension in the room, but Garrus was much slower to his feet. "We'll be waiting outside once you've got an answer."

Once they'd evacuated the room, Lantar turned to Garrus. "She's gonna balk."

Garrus' confident tone contradicted the uncertainty he was lowly humming. "We'll see." He gestured with his head towards the floor. "Let's have a drink while we're waiting. I have a feeling they're going to be in there awhile."

\--

It had been thirty minutes, and Lantar was beginning to wonder if Weaver had stabbed Melenis and slipped out the back door. He was on his second drink, and getting antsy, his leg bouncing as he continued to watch the back door. "I can't believe Melenis didn't tell her that we wanted her _on_ the mission."

"I have a feeling she wouldn't have even come to meet us." Garrus tone was calm, but he fidgeted with his glass; he'd barely had any of his drink. By now, Lantar knew Garrus' tells. The other was a terrible liar, and despite his enigmatic aura, when he let his guard down even the slightest bit, he was easy to read. Lantar idly wondered how much money Garrus had lost in card games over the years.

Garrus was anxious too.

It was relieving, in a slightly fucked up sort of way, for Lantar to see Garrus nervous about anything related to Archangel. He'd seen the younger turian nervous in social situations, but never even a little bit in regard to missions. It meant that there was some sense in that beautiful head of his, that he had at least some awareness that things _could_ go wrong.

It meant that Lantar had even the smallest chance of being able to talk him out of it. He reached out to put his hand over Garrus' drink, to stop him from spinning it on the table. "Garrus. Do you really think we're ready for this?"

Garrus looked back at him, mandibles flaring slightly. "Why wouldn't we be?"

Spirits, where to start? "It's the Blue Suns. They won't just ignore this. They'll be actively _after_ us. Us against one of the biggest criminal organizations in the galaxy." Garrus didn't look convinced. "Even if Weaver joins, that's only six of us. Only spirits know how many Blue Suns, against _six_ of us."

"My last crew was only seven, and we took out much bigger targets." Of course he was throwing down the Saren card. And the… whatever-the-bigger-thing-he-refused-to-explain-was card.

Lantar pulled his hand back, a little annoyed at the response. "Yeah, one of those seven being a damned _Spectre."_

Garrus thrummed back the annoyance, but before he could respond, he saw Melenis and Weaver exiting the back room. They approached the table, Melenis' hand resting lightly on Weaver's back. Yeah, there was something going on there. Weaver folded her arms across her chest, looking part annoyed, part upset, and part worried. "Okay. Fine. I'll help. On this one mission."

It was quiet, so soft Lantar almost missed it, but he could hear just a touch of pride in Melenis' undertones.

\--

Mordin could appreciate what Archangel was doing. Attempting to do, anyway. Small operations, but making progress from what he'd seen and heard. More and more patients came into his clinic, telling tales of an odd collection of individuals who'd saved them, rescued them, even just helped them.

He could appreciate the drive to do something good. It was highly possible that some of them were trying to make up for past sins also -- Mordin had discovered first hand how intense of a motive guilt was.

Whatever their reasons, they were accomplishing something. Something that was going to get them killed, but something nonetheless. It was inadvisable to draw the gangs' attention, especially when it seemed the group was still so small.

Especially considering when a turian, a salarian, and a human filed into his clinic, sporting non-lethal bullet wounds and a rather thin story as to how they'd been received.

Mordin wished Archangel the best of luck in endeavors. But did not have high hopes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Can we appreciate for a moment how goofy Lantar's brain gets under stress?
> 
> Thanks for reading my nonsense.


	10. All These Things That I've Done

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Butler patches everyone up and is not happy about it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Point/Counterpoint Soundtrack](https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLlqseyaCZJnOfHmyb81cizbhOmNHR3t-m)

And when there's nowhere else to run  
Is there room for one more son  
These changes ain't changing me  
The cold-hearted boy I used to be

You know you gotta help me out  
Oh don't you put me on the back burner  
You know you gotta help me out  
You're gonna bring yourself down

[ _All These Things That I've Done_](https://youtu.be/FcPzhmxShzU)  
The Killers

\--

Lantar never regretted being right more in his life.

It had started out all according to plan. They'd gotten in just as Weaver had said. She'd covered Garrus and Sensat as they sabotaged the equipment. There was less sand present than they had expected, and Melenis made quick work of it. The workers had complied with no hesitation, and Erash and Lantar hadn't even had to raise their guns.

But they'd forgotten to watch the damned _catwalks._

Weaver had warned them her intel was old, and since she'd worked there, the facility had apparently become much more important to the Blue Suns. They stood on the catwalks, opening up fire on the processing floor. The workers were mowed down as they screamed, Lantar unable to shield them all fast enough.

He was the one who screamed when Erash went down from a bullet to the head.

Sensat had spotted the vorcha at the side door, waving and yelling for them to follow. Lantar used his biotics to pull Erash with them, praying that her regenerative abilities were enough to keep her alive for now.

And that the vorcha knew how to get them out of here without getting them killed.

\--

The vorcha guided them to a lightly guarded exit, and even in their bloodied state, they managed to take down the few mercs in their way. They continued to follow the vorcha down alleys and side streets until Garrus declared them far enough away to take half a second to regroup.

Lantar was light-headed, his amp heated in his head by the time he was able to set Erash down. He all but collapsed on the ground next to her, and took a moment to check her over. She was alive -- conscious even, but barely. Blood covered her face, but Lantar was too scared to clean it away to see how bad the gunshot was. The blood was still flowing; the wound didn't seem to be healing itself.

Garrus was on his feet, somehow still steady. "Melenis, Sensat, Weaver. You three head east -- there's a med clinic, get to it as quick as you can. You'll be able to blend in well enough." Melenis nodded; he was leaning heavily on Weaver, but other than that, their wounds seemed relatively minor.

Lantar looked up at Garrus, breathing heavily. "What about us? Erash needs a doctor, _now,_ she can't--"

"Butler," Garrus responded. "He's closer; it's our only option."

Lantar shook his head. "What if we're followed?"

"No follow!" Lantar startled -- he'd forgotten the vorcha was there. "I make sure. Make sure still no follow."

Lantar looked up at Garrus. Could they really trust this vorcha? Well, it had gotten them out of that massacre, and they were running low on options. Garrus' thoughts seemed to be running along the same lines, and he nodded. "He'll make sure no one's tailing us."

 _"She,"_ Sensat interjected.

They all looked at the vorcha, who gave a slight nod, and tapped her claws against her chest. "Ripper. I help." Her skin was rusty red, her face black, and Lantar couldn't spot anything that differentiated her from any other vorcha he'd seen. Not even her voice. He wondered how many of the ones he'd seen had actually been female.

Garrus waved it away. "Get going, _now,_ and be _careful."_

Once the others were gone, Garrus crouched down in front of Lantar. "We might be able to carry her with just the two of us, but not far." He reached around to touch the back of Lantar's neck, at his implant site. "Can you manage to help carry her just a bit further?"

If Lantar's heart wasn't already racing, it would have been now. He nodded. "I think so."

Garrus returned the nod and helped him up.

\--

Lantar's amp was screaming in his brain by the time they reached Butler's. Erash had just enough consciousness to at least hold onto the two turians, even help a little bit with her feet, but it wasn't much. And spirits, krogan were _heavy._

Butler was waiting when they arrived; Lantar had luckily thought to send a message to let him know they were coming. He glanced up and down the street before waving them in. "Up on the table, come on."

Garrus and Lantar hauled Erash in, but Ripper shook her head. "I guard." Without another word, she scrabbled up onto the roof of the building, presumably for a better vantage point. Lantar ignored the arched eyebrow from Butler when the other closed the door.

He also ignored Butler asking, "What the fuck have you two _idiots_ gotten yourself into now?"

Garrus shook his head. "Later." With one final biotic push, they managed to get Erash up onto the table. It creaked, but held. Where the hell did Butler get his furniture? "Gunshot wound to the head, but it seems her regenerative abilities are keeping her stable."

Butler nodded, already pulling on gloves. Wow, Butler actually had gloves. Maybe he was a real doctor. He started cleaning the blood away from Erash's face. "Bit rusty on krogan anatomy, but hey, surgery's like riding a bike, right?"

Erash weakly pushed his arm away. "You pull out a needle and I'll pull out your arm." Her speech was slurred, but how in the hell was she cognizant enough to still speak _at all?_

Butler scowled down at her, pushing her arm down on the table. "I swear to god, I will use my scalpel in non-medical ways if you don't stay the fuck down."

"Try it. I got extra organs I ain't afraid to lose."

"Yeah? Krogan got a back-up frontal lobe I'm unaware of?"

Erash managed a wet laugh. Butler grabbed a scalpel, but looked up at Garrus and Lantar. "Garrus. Bathroom's at the end of the hall, go clean yourself up. Sidonis, for the love of fuck, _eat something_ before you pass out. There's dextro protein bars in the cabinet and you better not fucking leave any."

Why the fuck did Butler have dextro protein bars? A question for another day.

Lantar only realized then how badly he was shaking, and his head was still pounding. He was a fair biotic, but first the battle and then dragging Erash around had completely drained him. "I… yeah."

Garrus grabbed the box out of the cabinet and handed it to Lantar, but had disappeared back to the bathroom before Lantar could even open it. Shit, was he injured? He hadn't seemed to be too bad off, but they'd all been so focused on Erash that it might have slipped under Lantar's radar.

Lantar was on his second bar when he realized someone was missing. He turned to Butler, then immediately looked away when he saw Butler cutting into Erash's _face._ "Where's Nalah?"

Butler's voice was calm and steady. "I sent her away once I got your message." It made sense; Lantar's message was vague, and Butler would have wanted to keep Nalah out of danger. But he had still decided to help them. His focus remained on Erash. "Shot just missed taking out your eye."

"Good. Only assholes wear eyepatches."

Spirits, there were two of them now. Lantar decided to go check on Garrus, taking the box of protein bars with him. He was still wobbly as he headed back to the bathroom, but the now three bars he'd eaten had taken the edge off at least. The bathroom door was closed, and Lantar could hear water running. "...Garrus?"

"Just… just a second."

Lantar had never heard Garrus' voice like that. He sounded _shaken._ And that was one of the scariest things Lantar could imagine.

He opened the door, not giving Garrus the opportunity to put himself together. The other turian was pulling himself up from the floor, just as shaky as Lantar felt. Parts of his armor had been removed; it looked as through he'd dropped to the floor in the middle of taking it off.

"Hey, let me help," Lantar said softly, approaching Garrus slowly, not wanting to put him on the defensive. He set the box of protein bars on the counter, then started to help Garrus with his armor. Between two pairs of shaky hands it took longer than it should have, but they managed. Garrus even returned the favor, helping Lantar remove his own.

Lantar regretted the circumstances.

Once they were both down to their undersuits, Lantar barely managed to catch Garrus when his legs buckled, pulling them both down to sit on the floor. They each were sporting minor injuries, nothing that should have elicited this sort of reaction in Garrus. Not when Erash was in the other room, somehow surviving a bullet in her head.

Lantar's stomach curled, and he could begin to guess what was going through Garrus' mind.

"It's not your fault," he said quietly, gently pulling the taller turian into his arms. He thrummed comforting subtones.

Uncharacteristically, Garrus let himself slump against Lantar's chest. Garrus was so fiercely independent, Lantar had to wonder when the last time he let someone hold him was.

"How is it not?" Garrus replied in a soft keen.

"It was an ambush, Garrus, there was no way for us to know what was going to happen. We all knew we were going off of old intel. We all knew what we were getting into, that there was a possibility everything could go sideways."

Garrus let his head drop against Lantar's cowl; Lantar hoped the other couldn't feel the hard way he swallowed. "I pushed it too fast, I should have taken the time to scope the place out more thoroughly, build up the team more."

"Yeah, probably." Lantar winced when he felt Garrus tense against him, but the other didn't try to pull away, so Lantar continued. "It was a mistake. They happen. What we're doing is _dangerous,_ there's no getting around it. You've been shot enough times to know that. So we learn from it, and make sure it doesn't happen again."

Garrus sat up just a little bit; Lantar let him. "Erash got shot in the _head."_

Lantar forced a small laugh. "Yeah, and she's a krogan. You know it's just going to make her pissed off and more unstoppable. And she'll probably appreciate the scar's intimidation factor."

"It could have been one of the others."

"But it _wasn't."_ Lantar hesitated, but then put his hand on Garrus' cheek, forcing the other to look at him. Spirits, his eyes were blue. He used his other hand to remove Garrus' visor, and Garrus let him. "We're all alive. A little worse for wear, but alive. And I can guarantee that no one blames you."

He doubted Garrus believed him. The younger turian carried the weight of the galaxy on his shoulders, and didn't know how to share the burden. But he nodded, at least listening to Lantar's words, even if didn't necessarily believe them.

Lantar sighed and let his hand drop, then leaned against the counter. Garrus pulled out of his hold, and shifted to sit next to him, their shoulders touching.

"My last mission with my Cabal…" Lantar didn't know why he kept talking, he didn't know if the story would help or hurt, but the words came pouring out anyway. "A lot of people died. And it was my fault. I was in charge of barriers and I…" His voice caught for a moment. "I panicked. The fighting got too close and I ran and hid. The barriers dropped and the squad I was protecting was slaughtered. They were all killed and it was _my fault._ And instead of facing what I did, I ran again. Came to lose myself here."

He could still hear their screams. Hear them yelling for him, hear the shots that ripped through their bodies as they were gunned down. Hear the cries of _'COWARD'_ that would follow him the rest of his life.

Lantar could feel Garrus' eyes on him, but he didn't look, not wanting to see the disdain and disgust that he very much deserved. He took a shaky breath. "I told you I was a coward. I've done nothing in my life but run. But… when you're there, fighting beside me, I somehow can push through the fear that's just… always there. So any time you think you've failed us, just remember that at the very least, you helped a coward feel brave."

He hoped it would be something. That his trust meant _something_ to Garrus. Because Garrus' trust meant the world to him.

Garrus said nothing, but after a moment of silence, he reached over and gently took Lantar's hand, intertwining their fingers.

\--

Erash was sitting up by the time they emerged from the bathroom, poking at the stitches around her eye. "I told you, I'm not wearing a damn eye patch."

Butler smacked her arm down. "Then stop fucking poking at it, or I'll staple one to your damn face." Without waiting for a response, he turned to the two turians. "Either of you need anything sewn back together or did you patch each other up during your bathroom make out session?"

Make out? Lantar puzzled over the phrase, but Garrus shook his head. "We're fine. Erash?"

Butler answered for her. "Give it a couple days and it'll be fine. Though if she _keeps poking at it--"_ Butler snarled back in her direction. Erash, uncharacteristically, listened and dropped her hand. "--one or both of you need to shoot her. Doctor's orders."

"You really have that much fun patching me up? At least take a girl on a date first."

Butler rolled his eye, but didn't respond. "Since you're both fine, Garrus, I need to talk to you." His glare made Lantar wince. "Roof. _Now."_

Garrus glanced at Lantar, but nodded and followed Butler out the door.

Erash and Lantar exchanged a look. It didn't sound like that was going to be a pleasant conversation.

\--

Butler's building was one of the shorter ones in the area, even with other homes stacked on top of it. Which was just fine by Butler; the others were accessed by elevator, and his own door opened up into an alley. Typical shitty Omega building and planning, but at least it offered him a modicum of privacy that was hard to come by on the asteroid. The vorcha was perched on the edge of the building when they arrived, but Garrus waved it away. It hesitated for just a moment before climbing onto the roof of the building over.

Yeah, Butler was gonna need the story on that one. Hell, he was going to need the story on _everything._

He let Garrus stand there for a moment, taking his sweet time in lighting a cigarette. He'd be lying if he said he wasn't trying to make the other sweat a bit. Finally, he turned on the turian, glaring hard with his good eye. "So. Care to explain why the fuck you felt the need to drag a bleeding krogan into my fucking home?"

Butler didn't like Garrus. The kid was idealistic and _stupid,_ a combination that would get him an early grave. Butler had worried about him taking down Sidonis with him, and now he apparently had to worry about others too. Garrus didn't know Omega like Butler did, and here he was swanning in and thinking he could fix everything wrong with the asteroid. Butler wasn't stupid; he'd been following the news. _Archangel,_ a testament to Garrus' arrogance.

Garrus hid his discomfort well, but Butler could read the defensiveness in his posture. "We ran into some trouble and--"

"Can the shit, Garrus. This wasn't a mugging in an alley, so don't treat me like I'm a fucking idiot, all right? Were there other casualties?"

The turian hesitated, obviously debating just how much he wanted to tell Butler. Butler held back the urge to snarl at him to just fucking spill it.

Garrus finally spoke. "Another injury, not as serious. Sent him to a med clinic I knew was on the up-and-up. Other than that, just scrapes and bruises."

"Civilians?"

Garrus didn't say anything.

 _"Fuck,"_ Butler hissed, exhaling smoke through his teeth. No one on Omega was truly innocent, but it was always the ones closest to it that suffered the most. He thought of Nalah, the mine she worked in collapsing when one of the smaller gangs was stupid enough to try and take a hit at Aria's operations. She'd nearly died. It was how they had met, which he'd be eternally grateful for, but that didn't change the fact that she'd almost _died_ simply because she was trapped on Omega. Because that was how it worked here. Butler knew that far too well.

"You're going to get every last one of your people killed," Butler growled lowly around his cigarette. "This isn't the Citadel, no one is hiding in fear from C-Sec." The shock Garrus was humming was loud enough even for Butler to hear. Butler scowled back at him. "Yeah, I know who you are. Just because these other assholes are oblivious to what goes on in the rest of the galaxy doesn't mean that I am too, _Vakarian."_

There was a stare down between the two of them; a stare down that Butler won when Garrus looked away. The turian folded his arms across his chest, looking out over what little skyline was visible from the roof of the building. "Then I suppose you can guess why I'm doing this."

This self righteous piece of shit. "I don't give a fuck about your reasons. I give a fuck who's going to get hurt in your pointless crusade."

"I screwed up, all right?" Garrus snapped back, finally returning his glare. Butler's eyebrows arched, actually a little taken aback by the admission. "I let us go in with bad intel, I didn't take the time to verify or even properly plan the mission. Erash and Melenis were hurt, and it was _my_ fault. Whether they blame me or not doesn't change the fact that it's the truth. I'm responsible for their safety and well-being, and part of that is making sure that I'm not sending them to their deaths because I was arrogant and impatient." Garrus seemed to deflate a bit, his gaze dropping to the ground as he brought up a hand, skimming his fingers over his crest. "And not just my squad. I'm responsible for every life that was lost at the warehouse. Our mission succeeded, but at too high a cost." He was silent for another long moment, but then he looked up at Butler again. Butler honestly didn't think he'd seen such _determination_ in his entire life. "But we're committed to this. Myself, _and_ the others. You've met Erash; she's not going to let this stop her. And the others I can guarantee are of the same mind."

That… was unexpected. Butler had met sorts like Garrus before -- or at least he thought he had. Med school had been full of white knights who thought it was their destiny to save the world, who thought themselves infallible, who blamed everything except themselves when they failed. Full of excuses as to why it wasn't _their_ fault. Personal accountability was a rare trait in Butler's estimation, and one that was severely undervalued.

At least after this clusterfuck, it seemed as though Garrus was taking this very, _very_ seriously, determined not to let his squad down again.

"Fine," Butler growled. "You've got a death wish? _Fine._ At least tell me where and when your missions are so I can patch up your sorry asses."

It was Garrus' turn to be taken aback. But his expression slowly turned borderline smug. "Decided to be a good samaritan?"

"Go fuck yourself, Garrus."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _so close, boys._  But hey, Butler's back!
> 
> So. Bad news guys. I am completely out of buffer, so the fic is going on a brief hiatus. A blessing in disguise though -- getting my buffer back up means that I'll be able to take more time to edit and clean up the chapters. There was some last minute scrabbling for the last few, and I worry they might have suffered a bit for it. There's a reason this one was late -- I just finished editting it this morning.
> 
> The hiatus ~~is _not_ indefinite. I've got some of the next chapter written, and it will be posted on **Friday, January 18th.** We'll see where I'm at then.~~ has unfortunately been extended. I've been working on the next chapter, but have realized that there's a _lot_ of shit I need to fix for later on down the line. I plan to at least throw some small interludes out for you guys as I'm working on it though.
> 
> I promise I won't leave you hanging, and will keep you updated.
> 
> Thanks for reading my nonsense.


End file.
